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“ THE  CLOSEST  SHA  VE: 


''But  what  with  going  like  lightning,  and  having  the  load  well  over 
to  the  upper  side,  she  buzzed  by  that  wagon,  with  two  wheels  on  solid 
ground  and  two  in  the  air,  and,  before  she  had  thne  to  upset,  all  four 
of 'em  struck  bottom  again,  and  the  trick  was  h'umpedS 


BRAVE  FIEARTS 


AJV  AMERICAN  NOVEL. 


By  BOBEETSOV  OKAY. 


By  Darley,  Beard,  Stephens,  and  Kendrick. 


NEW  YORK: 

J.  B.  FORD  AND  COMPANY. 
1873. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873, 
BY  J.  B.  FORD  AND  COMPANY, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


University  Press:  Welch,  Bigelow  & Co. 
Cambridge. 


V ■213 

4 

^ CONTE^TTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Page 

'">The  Home  Station 1 

4“  CHAPTER  II. 

\ 

fi\Miss  Katherine  Campbell 11 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Stage-Driver 21 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Sunset 38 

CHAPTER  V. 

Why  the  Young  Man  went  West 46 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Two  Letters 63 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Sol  Redwood’s  Ice 67 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Two  Conversations 84 

\ CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Clam-Bake 

;> 


100 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Courage,  and  other  Matters 115 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Up  the  Grade 134 

CHAPTER  XII. 

An  Adventure . , . .154 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Goldopolis 172 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Down  the  Grade 185 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Aunt  Margaret  . . . . . . . . 206 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A Night^s  Work 217 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Overland 238 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Too  Late 260 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Bravest  Heart 273 


Brave  Hearts. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE  HOME  STATION. 

I WRITE  of  a time  when  the  railroad  had  not  yet 
spanned  the  continent,  and  reduced  the  overland  jour- 
ney to  one  of  the  most  commonplace  and  comfortable 
that  can  be  found  in  the  world.  No  doubt  the  Pacific 
Eailroad  is  a great  institution.  If  that  part  of  a certain 
Scripture  which  says,  many  shall  run  to  and  fro,”  has 
any  logical  connection  with  the  other  part,  which  says, 
and  knowledge  shall  be  increased,”  then  this  great 
institution  will  certainly  increase  knowledge.  Mean- 
while it  is  producing  some  other  effects,  not  altogether 
welcome.  It  has  introduced,  for  instance,  the  pernicious 
practice  of  trans-continental  travelling  with  babies.  In 
the  good  old  times  babies  had  to  go  round  by  the  Isth- 
mus ; now  they  make  music  in  the  Pullman  cars.  And 
there  are  a good  many  of  them ; for  a whole  generation 
of  pioneers  is  engaged  in  going  home  to  visit  the  old 
folks  in  the  East,  and  taking  its  infant  jewels  along  for 
exhibition. 

Another  effect  of  the  railroad  has  been  to  break  up 
the  wonderful  stage-coach  system  of  a few  years  ago. 

1 


A 


2 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


It  is  true  that  people  continue  to  travel  all  over  the 
Inland  Basin  and  the  Pacific  coast  in  stages.  Probably, 
taking  into  consideration  the  numerous  side  lines  which 
connect  the  railroad  with  old  and  new  settlements  and 
mining  districts,  there  is  more  ''staging”  done  than 
ever.  Some  lines  still  remain  that  are  long  enough  to 
revive  the  memories  of  overland  travel,  — as,  for  instance, 
the  line  stretching  from  Salt  Lake  northward  into  the 
heart  of  Montana,  soon  to  be  superseded  by  the  North- 
ern Pacific  Eailroad,  and  partially,  at  least,  replaced  by  a 
narrow-gauge  road  over  its  own  route ; or  the  California 
and  Oregon  line,  fast  melting  away  before  the  encroach- 
ments of  railroad-building  at  both  ends.  California, 
Idaho,  Utah,  and  Nevada  have  their  long  stage-routes 
still,  over  which  the  traveller  may  pass  day  and  night, 
without  pause,  for  many  weary  hours.  But  the  glory  of 
the  stages  is  departed.  The  great  house  of  Wells,  Fargo, 
& Co.,  successor  in  the  business  of  Holladay  and  of 
Butterfield,  has  sold  all  its  coaches  and  horses  and  sta- 
tions ; and  the  country  is  full  of  these  second-hand  arti- 
cles, wofully  deteriorated  by  the  lapse  of  time  and  the 
hands  of  those  destructive  fellows,  Wear  and  Tear. 

The  coaches  used  by  "Wells  Fargo,”  as  this  house  is 
popularly  called,  were  made  in  Concord,  New  Hamp- 
shire, and  carried  to  California  by  sea.  The  excellence 
of  their  workmanship,  once"  a blessing,  has  become  very 
nearly  a nuisance.  They  are  like  the  celebrated  one- 
horse  shay,  except  that  the  happy  day  has  not  yet 
arrived  when  the  oldest  of  them  will  drop  to  pieces, 
past  mending.  Upset  a hundred  times,  weather-beaten 


THE  HOME  STATION. 


3 


beyond  recognition  of  their  original  war-paint,  abso- 
lutely decayed  as  to  inside  tapestries  and  brocades,  with 
their  glass  windows  smashed,  and  their  leather  cushions 
pounded  into  most  incompatible  hammocks,  these  stanch 
old  vehicles  continue  to  roll  their  daily  and  nightly 
courses  as  regularly  as  the  stars ; and  there  is  no  sign  as 
yet  of  the  giving  out  of  their  running-gear,’’  — that  is, 
their  wheels,  axles,  and  thoroughbraces,  — the  hopeless 
collapse  of  which  is  the  only  warning  which  would  move 
the  present  managers  of  stage  lines  to  substitute  less 
venerable  and  more  comfortable  accommodations  for 
passengers.  Horses,  on  the  other  hand,  are  mortal,  and 
have  to  be  renewed ; but,  what  with  economy  in  buying 
and  economy  in  feeding,  and  the  reverse  of  economy  in 
driving,  we  have  chiefly  a race  of  half-starved,  over- 
worked broncos”  and  "'mustangs”  in  place  of  the 
sleek,  stately,  and  spirited  teams  of  the  last  epoch.  Be 
it  understood,  therefore,  that  I write  of  a period  when 
Concord  coaches  were  new,  and  stock  was  stock,  and  the 
stage-driver  was  of  some  account  in  the  world. 

I think,  as  I write,  of  many  a weary  and  many  a 
jovial  mile  travelled  in  those  good  old  days ; of  adven- 
tures and  hair-breadth  escapes  ; of  catastrophes  glori- 
ously achieved ; of  mad  drives  down  the  steep  grades ; 
of  sound  sleep  in  the  " boot  ” under  the  driver’s  seat, 
or  night-beguiling  conversation  by  the  driver’s  side  be- 
neath the  friendly  stars ; and  chiefly  of  the  lonely  way- 
stations,  where  the  horses  are  changed  in  mid-wilder- 
ness, while  the  passengers  walk  around  the  coach  to 
stretch  their  legs,  and  the  solitary  hostler  inquires  con- 


4 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


cerning  the  last  fight  in  the  nearest  town  a hundred 
miles  away,  or  wants  to  know  when  that  there  grain  is 
coming  along  that  the  division  superintendent  promised 
to  send,  for,  if  it  don’t  come,  he  will  have  to  begin  on 
corn  and  bunch-grass,  which  will  be  playing  it  pretty 
low  down  on  the  cattle. 

The  home  stations  were  more  ambitious  in  their  ar- 
rangements. There  the  coaches  were  frequently  changed, 
and  the  drivers,  always.  There  the  passengers  took  their 
meals,  and  not  seldom  some,  who  had  found  the  fatigue 
of  continuous  travel  day  and  night  too  much  for  them, 
stopped  twenty-four  hours  to  recuperate  their  strength. 
The  home  stations  were  likely  to  be  adorned  with  the 
presence  of  woman,  possibly,  in  faded  and  sad  or  ugly  and 
stern  specimens,  but  still  a blessing  and  a pleasant  varia- 
tion of  the  masculine  monotony  of  the  rest  of  the  route. 
The  station-keepers  were  often  men  of  strong,  eccentric 
character,  worth  studying.  Indeed,  almost  everybody 
one  met  in  those  days  on  the  Pacific  slope  was  worth 
studying,  since  only  people  with  unusual  motive-power 
of  some  kind  in  them  found  their  way  to  such  remote 
regions.  Usually  it  was  the  desire  for  money  that  had 
floated  them  to  the  diggings  or  stranded  them  all  along 
the  road ; but  this  desire  took  many  forms  and  sprang 
from  many  sources.  One  perpetually  stumbled  upon 
persons  whose  secret  reasons  for  their  choice  of  a resi- 
dence were  as  inexplicable  as  whims  to  those  who  did 
not  know  their  history. 

— Andrew  Campbell,  otherwise  called,  in  respect,  ''  Gen- 
tleman Andy,”  and  in  irony,  ''  Handy  Andy,”  was  one  of 


THE  HOME  STATION. 


5 


this  class.  He  kept  the  home  station  twenty  miles  west 
of  Knucklesville,  a mining  camp  in  the  foot-hills  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada.  Knucklesville,  by  the  way,  got  its  name 
from  the  first  settler,  whose  sobriquet  of  Knuckles’" 
was  fairly  won  in  a knock-down  argument.  For  a con- 
siderable time  the  camp  maintained  the  significance  of 
this  title ; but  the  fist  business  does  not  come  naturally 
to  the  inhabitants  of  a democratic  country.  They  prefer 
a method  of  warfare  in  better  accord  with  the  equality 
of  man.  So,  old  Knuckles  himself  was  shot  through 
the  middle  of  his  six  vertical  feet,  which  knocked  him 
entirely  off  his  two  horizontal  feet,  and  removed  both 
him  and  the  fashion  he  had  set  from  the  population  of 
Knucklesville.  The  slayer  was  a keen  and  cool  young 
fellow  named  Harrison  Howe,  alias  Hank,  whose  claim, 
it  was  said,  the  old  scoundrel  had  ''  jumped.”  Hank  was 
tried  by  an  improvised  jury,  which,  after  hearing  from 
him  the  single  fact  that  the  deceased  was  a jumper,”  — 
that  is,  one  who  occupied  by  stratagem  and  then  retained 
by  violence  the  mining  grounds  of  other  claimants,  — de- 
clared that  it  did  n’t  want  to  hear  any  more,  and  was  with 
difficulty  persuaded  by  the  judge,  who  mingled  rather 
freely  in  the  deliberations,  to  alter  its  first-intended  ver- 
dict of  Served  him  right,”  to  the  more  decorous  but 
less  distinct  and  sincere  “ Died  a natural  death  by  the 
discharge  of  a pistol.”  This  was  more  like  the  result  of 
a coroner’s  inquiry  than  like  that  of  a trial ; but  form 
was  of  little  account,  and  everybody  understood  what 
the  jury  meant  when,  instead  of  finding  one  fellow 
guilty,  they  simply  found  the  other  fellow  dead. 


6 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


Mr.  Howe  will  appear  again  in  our  story.  Knuckles 
has  gone  out  of  it,  and  even  the  map  knows  him  no 
more ; for  the  inhabitants  of  Knucklesville,  when  they 
wanted  to  ''  attract  capital  to  their  mines,  changed  its 
vulgar  name,  which  looked  disgraceful  in  a prospectus  or 
a stock  certificate,  to  Goldopolis,  a classic  cognomen 
which,  like  the  famous  English  poet  of  similarly  aurifer- 
ous title, ''  touched  nothing  that  it  did  not  adorn.’’  Gold- 
opolis it  was  at  the  time  of  our  story ; and  anybody  who 
said  Knucklesville  was  known  at  once  as  a foe,  and  prob- 
ably a partisan  of  the  still  unregenerate  camp  of  Dead 
Man’s  Gulch,  which  hated  its  more  ambitious  rival,  and 
tried  all  sorts  of  mean  tricks  to  undermine  its  prosperity 
and  win  away  from  it  the  post-office,  the  express  office, 
and  the  daily  stage.  Dead  Man’s  Gulch  had,  indeed,  for 
a season  or  two,  produced  the  more  gold ; but  Goldopolis 
fell  proudly  back  on  its  undeveloped  quartz  mines,  which 
were  ''  certain,  with  capital,  to  pay  the  national  debt.” 
Paying  debts  with  capital,  while  it  lasted,  and  then  not 
paying  them  at  all,  was  a method  of  management  not 
uncommon  in  those  days  — and  since. 

But  the  most  important  and  permanent  advantage 
possessed  by  Goldopolis  was  the  Grade,  an  expensive 
and  difficult  piece  of  road-engineering,  executed  in  the 
flush  times  when  the  diggings  were  new  and  rich, 
and  freight  and  travel  were  enormous.  Dead  Man’s 
Gulch  might  blow  as  much  as  it  liked;  it  had  n’t 
got  a grade,  and  it  could  n’t  afford  to  make  one ; and  it 
was  n’t  likely  that  the  mail  route  would  be  changed  to 
such  a rugged  and  steep  canon  as  led  up  to  the  Gulch, 


THE  HOME  STATION. 


7 


just  because  a few  fellows  up  there  had  ^ struck  it  rich  ’ 
in  the  gravel.  Let  ’em  bring  over  their  gold-dust  and 
carry  back  their  goods  and  liquors  on  jacks.”  So  said  the 
Goldopolitans ; though  occasionally  one  of  them,  attract- 
ed by  the  rumors  of  new  discoveries,  disappeared  from 
town,  and  was  soon  heard  of  as  a resident  in  the  Gulch, 
and  a furious  Gulchite. 

But  Wells  Fargo  paid  little  attention  to  these  debates. 
They  would  not  lightly  move  their  line  from  the  ancient 
route ; for  besides  the  Grade  and  the  unexpired  mail  con- 
tract, there  were  all  the  stations,  and  particularly  the 
far-famed  Campbell  station,  which  could  not  be  moved 
nor  replaced  in  a hurry  by  an  equally  attractive  one. 

Campbell  station,  or  ''  Andy’s,”  was  really  a pleasant 
ranch.  The  house,  a long  one-story  affair,  looked  as  if  it 
had  once  been  short  and  thick,  but  had  been  pulled  out 
to  accommodate  increasing  needs.  A piazza,  extending 
along  the  entire  front  parallel  with  the  road,  was,  like 
the  building  itself,  constructed  of  wood  and  whitewashed. 
From  this  piazza,  half  a dozen  front  doors  gave  entrance 
to  different  apartments  within,  one  to  the  kitchen,  one  to 
the  big  sitting-room,  one  to  the  bar-room,  two  to  bed- 
rooms for  travellers,  and  the  sixth  to  a hall  which  ran 
through  the  house  and  communicated  with  domestic 
domains,  of  which  the  public  saw  nothing,  — the  apart- 
ments of  the  family.  Then  there  was  a stock-corral,  or 
what  would  be  called  in  the  East  a barn-yard ; and  there 
was  a barn  with  the  great  stables  of  the  stage  line,  and 
beyond  these,  along  the  swelling  upland  and  stretching 
down  towards  the  broad  plain,  there  were,  at  the  time  of 


8 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


this  story,  fields  of  yellow  grain-stubble  (for  harvest  was 
over),  dotted  with  the  dark  shining  green  of  scattered 
oak-trees,  while  only  a little  way  up  towards  the  east 
began  the  forests  of  the  foot-hills,  and  behind  these  rose 
the  crests  of  the  Sierra,  still  patched  in  the  early  autumn 
with  the  remnants  of  last  winter’s  snow.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  road  from  the  house,  the  ground  fell  rapidly, 
and  a hundred  feet  below  flowed  a stream,  turbid  with 
the  traces  of  the  gulch-mining  above.  At  this  season  it 
was  narrowed  to  an  insignificant  creek,  though  it  carried 
all  the  waters  of  the  mining  camps  I have  mentioned  and 
several  others ; but  when  swollen  by  winter  rains  or 
thawing  snows,  it  poured  tumultuously  out  from  the 
mouth  of  its  precipitous  piny  canon,  half  a mile  above 
the  station,  and  sometimes  raised  its  tawny  flood  half- 
way up  the  bluff  on  which  was  Campbell’s  ranch.  More 
than  that  it  could  not  do  in  the  wettest  season.  Camp- 
bell brought  a small  part  of  its  water  from  a point 
in  the  canon  by  means  of  ditch  and  flume,  to  supply 
his  establishment  and  to  irrigate  his  vegetable  garden. 

Enough,  for  the  present,  of  the  station.  Let  me  say 
something  of  its  regular  and  transient  inhabitants.  An- 
drew Campbell  was,  of  course,  no  native  of  the  Californian 
soil.  There  were  scarcely  any  natives  in  those  days  but 
Indians,  Greasers,”  — that  is  to  say,  Mexicans,  — and 
babies.  Nor  did  any  of  the  frequenters  of  the  ranch 
know  or  care  where  the  station-keeper  originated.  It  was 
a tacit  maxim  of  politeness  — one  of  the  few  but  rig- 
idly observed  customs  which  constituted  the  etiquette 
of  the  coast  — not  to  inquire  into  any  man’s  past  his- 


THE  HOME  STATION. 


9 


tory.  What  he  had  been  or  done  since  he  left  '"the 
States  ” was  his  character.  If  he  had  been  ''  run  out  ” of 
Calaveras  County  by  a vigilance  committee,  if  he  had 
killed  a man  in  cold  blood  down  at  the  Bay,  if  he  had 
gone  back  on  his  pardner  ” when  they  two  were  at- 
tacked by  not  more  than  four,  if  he  had  been  caught 
cheating  at  poker,”  or  if  he  was  suspected  of  horse- 
stealing, it  might  go  hard  with  him.  But  neither  his 
virtues  nor  his  crimes  were  exempt  from  that  unwritten 
statute  of  limitations  which  rubbed  out  his  life  before  he 
crossed  the  Plains  or  the  Isthmus,  and  left  him  a clean 
slate  to  write  a new  life  upon.  He  might  be  an  exiled 
prince  or  a runaway  sailor,  a fugitive  from  tyranny,  or 
a fugitive  from  justice,  or  a fugitive  from  matrimony : 
it  was  all  one  to  his  neighbors,  who  granted  him  a corner 
of  the  oblivion  in  which  they  had  comfortably  ensconced 
themselves,  and  did  not  even  think  he  had  a secret,  much 
less  attempt  to  worm  it  out  of  him.  Some  of  them,  it  is 
true,  having  brought  clear  consciences  with  them  and 
left  loving  hearts  behind  them,  talked  occasionally  about 
‘Agoing  home”  when  they  had  made  their  pile ” ; but 
those  who  never  indulged  in  such  allusions  were  not 
accounted  strange. 

Andrew  Campbell  was  not  one  who  talked  of  going 
home,  or  took  pleasure  in  any  allusion  to  ''  the  States  ” 
and  their  society.  He  avoided  the  subject  with  a nervous 
timidity  which,  anywhere  else,  would  have  attracted  sus- 
picion ; and  the  interest  which  he  took  in  the  permanent 
improvement  of  his  ranch  indicated  that  there  he  meant 
to  stay.  Gray  but  not  old,  and  bent  but  not  feeble,  he 


10 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


seemed  to  be  perpetually  deprecating  the  criticism  of 
mankind.  The  quiet  virtues  of  temperance,  industry, 
patience,  and  peacefulness  he  possessed  in  full  measure. 
Courage,  too,  he  had  shown  in  several  critical  instances ; 
once,  when  he  throttled  a mad  dog  in  Knucklesville  with 
his  naked  hands ; once,  when  he  pulled  a half-drowned 
Chinaman  out  of  the  gulch,  during  a freshet.  But  cour- 
age in  words  he  had  not,  nor  ambition,  nor  enterprise. 
In  fact,  he  was,  for  some  cause  or  other,  what  we  call 
a broken-down  man ; and  sundry  manly  qualities,  prob- 
ably never  very  strong  in  him,  had  been,  by  that  un- 
known cause,  utterly  crushed  out  of  him.  Only  two 
things  ever  roused  him  to  throw  off  his  burden  of  secret 
sorrow,  — his  fiddle  and  his  daughter.  These  he  loved ; 
and  these  gave  him  an  amount  of  local  influence  and 
reputation  which  his  weak  personality  would  not  other- 
wise have  commanded.  The  fiddle  was  celebrated  for 
many  miles.  As  he  played  it,  it  bewitched  the  heads 
and  heels  of  all  listeners ; and  bonny  Kate  Campbell 
corralled  ’’  their  hearts  with  less  trouble  than  it  cost 
her  to  corral  the  docile  kine  or  the  unanimous  sheep  of 
the  ranch.  But  I must  take  breath  and  begin  again  to 
speak  of  bonny  Kate. 


MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 


11 


CHAPTEE  II. 

MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 

Andrew  Campbell's  daughter  was  at  first  appearance 
strangely  unlike  him.  What  he  lacked,  she  possessed, 
— brightness,  decision,  the  consciousness  of  power,  and 
a hopeful  faith  in  man  and  Providence.  Only  by 
watching  father  and  daughter  more  closely,  could  one 
detect  the  strong  resemblances  and  the  deep  sympathy 
which  united  them.  They  were  both  refined  and  intel- 
ligent; though  Andrew  Campbell,  gentleman,  shrank 
from  contact  with  his  fellows,  while  Kate  Campbell, 
gentlewoman,  was  alike  fearless  and  friendly  to  all.  Per- 
haps he  had  once  been  more  nearly  what  she  was  now ; 
yet  it  certainly  seemed  unlikely  that  any  misfortune 
could  ever  break  her  high  spirit  as  his  had  been  broken. 
It  was  not  often  that  the  keenest  observer  could  divine 
from  any  glance  or  word  of  hers,  that  her  life  was  de- 
voted to  the  comfort,  consolation,  and  protection  of  her 
father;  though  everybody  knew  that,  in  her  cheerful, 
steadfast  way,  she  was  doing  the  thing  of  which  she 
seemed  unconscious.  Her  fresh,  smiling  face,  glossy 
black  hair,  and  blue  eyes  wdth  long  dark  lashes ; her 
trim,  small,  active  figure ; her  little  hands,  browned  but 
not  hardened  by  her  busy  life,  in  doors  and  out,  — spoke 
no  special  capacities  of  heroism ; nor  did  the  quaint  and 


12 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


rude  expressions  of  the  dialect  of  the  country,  which 
came  freely  from  her  lips,  when  she  chose  to  employ 
them,  indicate  that  she  was  a sacred  person  to  be  set 
apart  as  better  than  common  folks.  Of  course  the 
miners  and  teamsters  worshipped  her.  They  would 
have  done  as  much  for  a girl  not  half  so  pretty  and 
wise ; for  in  those  days  girls  were  scarce.  But  they 
looked  up  to  her  with  special  admiration  and  re- 
spect, because  she  combined  so  much  good-nature  and 
good-fellowship  with  real  delicacy  and  propriety.  Old 
Knuckles  had  early  expressed  the  general  sentiment 
when  he  said,  ^^That  there  girl  of  Handy  Andy’s  can 
just  see  any  girl  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  go  her  ten 
better,  and  rake  in  the  stakes,  and  never  show  her  hand. 
Back  ’em  right  down,  sir,  every  time  ! ” 

But  you  will  know  Kate  better,  if  I sketch  for  you  a 
scene  in  the  great  sitting-room  of  the  station.  It  is 
evening,  and  the  room  is  lighted,  partly  by  the  flame 
of  a roaring  fire  in  the  capacious  fireplace,  partly  by 
candles,  distributed  here  and  there,  as  they  are  needed. 
One  of  them  dimly  illuminates  a table  in  the  corner, 
where  a party  of  rough  miners  are  playing  cards,  with 
some  gold  coin  and  more  gold-dust  as  stakes.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  another  candle  stands  upon  a table, 
on  which  are  well-worn  copies  of  newspapers,  an  odd 
volume  of  the  Patent  Office  Eeports,  and  another  of  the 
Agricultural  Eeports.  Half  a dozen  stalwart  fellows  are 
gathered  here,  crowding  as  close  as  possible  to  the  light, 
and  reading  whatever  they  can  get  hold  of  in  the  way 
of  literature.  Still  another  candle  lights  another  corner. 


MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 


13 


just  beyond  the  fireplace,  where  Miss  Campbell  sits 
patching,  darning,  sewing  on  buttons,  and  otherwise  re- 
pairing garments  which  have  seen  their  best  days,  but 
still  hold  out  bravely  against  the  assaults  of  time.  A 
circle  of  men  is  occupying  chairs  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
discussing  with  much  shrewdness  and  ignorance  all 
questions  in  heaven  or  earth.  The  young  lady  sits 
behind  one  end  of  this  circle,  and  frequently  joins  with 
vivacity  in  the  conversation.  Just  now  the  topic  is  one 
which  does  not  interest  her.  An  enthusiastic  inventor 
from  San  Francisco  is  explaining  the  principles  of  his 
new  contrivance  for  saving  all  the  gold’’  that  may 
exist  in  any  material  whatever,  — mud,  water,  gravel, 
quartz,  or  sulphurets. 

"'You  see,”  says  the  San  Francisco  chap,  sweeping 
with  glittering  eye  the  spell-bound  circle,  "the  great 
obstacle,  gentlemen,  to  gold  is  impurities  ; and  my  pro- 
cess is  calklated  to  re-move  impurities.  Show  it  to 
you  in  the  patent,  — "Whereas,  etcetery,  etcetery,  re- 
move impurities.’  Jest  what  I told  you.  Now,  how 
do  we  re-move  impurities  ? Jest  the  way  they  come 
there;  that’s  the  whole  science  of  this  matter.  This 
’ere  gulch  gold ’s  got  impurities  — come  there  by  water ; 
take  ’em  out  by  water.  This  ’ere  quartz  gold ’s  got  im- 
purities — come  there  by  fire ; take  ’em  out  by  fire ; re- 
move them,  gentlemen,  and  what  then  ? Show  you  in 
the  patent,  — " After  the  impurities  is  re-moved,  the  gold 
re-mains.’  Now  my  machine  can  be  used  with  fire  or 
it  can  be  used  with  water,  jest  accordin’  to  circum- 
stances.” 


14 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Here  a burly  son  of  Erin,  who  has  been  listening 
quietly  and  looking  into  the  fire,  removes  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  says,  ''No,  bedad,  that’s  just  what  the 
gowld  won’t  do,  my  boy.  Sure  it ’s  as  bad  as  the  pigs 
in  the  owld  counthry.  Av  ye  remove  the  dirt,  ye  can’t 
kape  the  pig.” 

The  San  Francisco  man  waxes  warm  at  this,  and 
pours  forth  a torrent  of  scientific  information  which 
overwhelms,  without  convincing,  his  sceptical  hearers. 
Meanwhile,  one  and  another  member  of  this  and  other 
groups  in  the  room  strays  to  the  work-table  of  Miss 
Campbell,  sits  down  unforbidden  in  the  chair  opposite 
her,  and  enjoys  a pleasant  bit  of  conversation.  As  the 
only  woman  present,  she  is  felt  to  be  a luxury  which  it 
would  not  be  fair  for  any  one  to  monopolize. 

“Well,  Kate,”  says  one  comer,  “did  you  find  the 
white  cow  ? ” 

“ You  bet ! ” responds  the  young  lady,  displaying  her 
white  teeth  with  a merry  smile ; “ found  her  half  way 
up  the  Grade,  tumbled  into  one  of  poor  Knuckles’s  old 
prospecting-holes.  Lucky  she  did  n’t  go  over  the  other 
edge  of  the  road  instead.  It  would  have  made  beef  of 
IfieVy  sure.” 

“ What ’s  that  about  going  half-way  up  the  Grade  ? ” in- 
terjects another;  “you’d  better  look  out  for  yourself, 
Kate,  around  in  these  lonesome  places.  The  road- 
agents  * have  opened  a branch  somewheres  about  here, 
and  they  ’re  just  doing  a contract  business.  Busted  old 
Uncle  Billy’s  sluice-boxes  the  other  night,  and  cleaned 


* Highway  robbers. 


MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 


15 


all  the  quick*  out  of  the  riffles,  and  went  through 
three  Chinamen  the  same  night,  on  that  very  Knuckles 
Grade." 

In  reply  to  this  friendly  warning,  the  fair  maid  merely 
showed  the  handle  of  a silver-mounted  revolver,  and, 
without  taking  the  weapon  from  her  pocket,  remarked 
coolly,  ‘^We  don't  go  shopping  alone.  There's  six 
of  us!" 

But  these  Amazonian  utterances  were  as  foreign  to 
her  general  behavior  as  they  were  to  her  appearance. 
There  was  nothing  'particularly  dashing  in  her  looks  or 
ways.  Quiet  resolution  and  self-poise,  or  what  ‘'the 
boys  " called  savey^  *|*  were  expressed  in  her  bearing,  but 
womanly  sympathy  and  helpfulness  were  equally  her 
characteristics.  Even  the  miners’  slang,  into  which  she 
had  fallen  so  easily,  did  not  obliterate  an  air  of  refine- 
ment, inherited  from  days  when  she  had  moved  in  good 
society,  — days  which,  for  her  father’s  sake,  she  reso- 
lutely put  behind  her  and  banished  from  her  thoughts. 

It  was  out  of  her  power  to  prevent  entirely  the  two 
border  vices  of  drinking  and  gambling  at  the  station. 
But  somehow  there  was  comparatively  little  of  that  sort 
of  thing  in  her  neighborhood.  The  bar-room  did  not 
communicate  with  the  sitting-room.  If  anybody  wanted 
to  take  a drink,  he  had  to  go  out  along  the  piazza,  and 
enter  the  domain  of  Bacchus  by  an  independent  door. 
And  there  were  no  facilities  furnished  for  regular  orgies. 

* Quicksilver,  used  to  collect  and  amalgamate  the  gold  washed  in 
the  sluices. 

+ Savoir  faire  ; gumption. 


16 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


People  inclined  that  way  were  much  better  accommo- 
dated at  Goldopolis,  or  the  Gulch.  The  company  at  the 
station  was  usually  more  quietly  disposed,  and  satisfied 
to  gossip  and  smoke  (with  an  occasional  walk  along  that 
piazza),  to  listen  to  Andy  CampbeU’s  fiddle,  and  to  look 
at  his  daughter’s  face. 

On  the  night  I have  been  describing,  however,  there 
was  a party  playing  poker  in  the  corner,  towards  which 
Miss  Campbell’s  eyes  repeatedly  wandered  with  a look 
of  mingled  distrust  and  dislike.  The  silence  of  the 
players,  broken  only  by  the  laconic  jargon  belonging  to 
the  game,  indicated  that  the  stakes  were  high ; and  the 
idlers  who  from  time  to  time  strolled  up  to  the  table  and 
watched  the  progress  of  the  game  saw  clearly  that 
three  of  the  group  were  losing  considerable  sums  to  the 
fourth.  These  three,  after  a while,  were  seized  with  a 
simultaneous  thirst.  The  monotony  of  losing  made 
them  dry;  so  they  adjourned  for  a recess  to  the  bar- 
room, leaving  the  cards  dealt,  face  down  on  the  table, 
and  the  coin  and  dust  in  heaps.  It  was  perfectly  safe ; 
safer  indeed,  in  that  crowd,  than  if  the  money  had 
been  under  lock  and  key  in  a less  honest  neighborhood. 
If  any  man  had  tampered  with  it,  he  would  have  been 
roughly  handled  by  the  company.  Even  a professional 
thief  would  have  let  it  alone,  under  tlie  circumstances. 

The  winner  did  not  accompany  his  companions  to  the 
bar-room,  but  rose  from  his  seat  with  an  air  of  indolent 
indifference,  and  sauntered  across  the  room  to  where 
Kate  Campbell  sat.  It  happened  that  at  that  moment  no 
one  else  was  talking  with  her ; and  Mr.  Harrison  Howe, 


MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 


17 


with  his  pale  face,  close-shaven  chin,  heavy  mnstache, 
clean  linen,  and  quiet  tones,  dropped  into  the  vacant 
chair  opposite  her  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  a special 
right  there.  It  was  curious  that  he  talked  excellent 
English  to  her,  without  a trace  of  slang  or  rudeness, 
though  he  could  curse  on  occasion  among  the  men  with 
a cold-blooded  ingenuity  and  fluency  that  shocked  even 
the  average  gold-digger.  Still,  a fine  gentleman  he  al- 
ways was ; temperance,  self-control,  and  reserve  were 
part  of  his  stock  in  trade ; for  he  was  a gambler,  and 
for  the  sake  of  this  profitable  vice,  he  sacrificed,  after 
the  manner  of  his  profession,  the  unprofitable  ones. 
Many  a gambler  of  those  days  and  regions,  if  he  had 
arrived  of  a Saturday  afternoon  in  an  innocent  New 
England  village,  would  have  been  asked  to  preach.  But 
this  would  not  have  happened  to  Mr.  Howe,  by  reason 
of  his  heavy  mustache.  How  slight  are  the  outward 
differences  between  saints  and  sinners ! 

After  a deliberate  look  at  Kate,  who  bent  assiduously 
over  her  work,  he  drummed  lightly  upon  the  table,  dis- 
playing by  accident  a white  hand  with  a diamond  ring, 
and  leaning  forward,  said  in  a low  tone,  Miss  Campbell, 
I have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good  evening.” 

Good  evening,  sir,”  replied  Kate,  without  lifting  her 
head. 

''Have  you  considered  the  little  proposition  I took 
the  liberty  of  making  this  afternoon  ? It  was  unfor- 
tunate that  you  were  interrupted,  as  you  were  about  to 
give  me  an  answer.” 

She  did  not  look  at  him;  but  she  cast  around  the 


18 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


room  a furtive  glance,  which  assured  her  that  nobody 
was  within  hearing.  Mr.  Harrison  Howe  had  chosen  an 
unlucky  time  to  renew  the  interrupted  conversation ; for 
this  roomful  of  hearty  friends  was  a protection,  without 
being  an  embarrassment,  to  his  antagonist.  Perhaps  he 
had  not  quite  expected  to  find  her  an  antagonist.  His 
manner  had  an  air  of  power,  not  of  hostility.  But  a 
shade  of  darker  feeling  crossed  his  face  as  she  replied  in 
a low,  but  distinct  voice,  ''Your  proposition,  Mr.  Howe, 
was  made  once  before,  and  declined.  You  had  no  reason 
to  expect  a different  result,  when  you  met  me  alone  upon 
the  Grade,  and  persisted  in  repeating  what  I did  not 
care  to  hear.  The  fact  that  the  stage  came  by,  and  that 
Steve  took  me  up  and  gave  me  a ride  home,  was  fortu- 
nate for  both  of  us.  If  it  had  not  happened,  I might 
have  given  you  some  angry  words.” 

" Then  you  are  not  so  angry  now  ? ” he  queried 
quickly. 

" I give  you  the  same  reply  in  substance  now  as  I 
would  have  given  you  then;  your  proposition  is  de- 
clined.” 

"But  I would  not  have  let  you  off  as  easily  then,” 
he  murmured;  "you  should  have  heard  me  further.” 
Here  for  the  first  time  she  looked  straight  at  him, 
with  a slight  dilation  of  eye  and  nostril,  whicli  made 
him  hasten  to  add,  " Miss  Campbell,  you  misunderstand 
me.  I merely  mean  that  I had,  and  still  have,  some- 
thing to  say  that  will  probably  lead  you  to  change  your 
decision.  Your  father  — ” 

Kate  faced  him,  glowing  with  concentrate  wrath. 


MISS  KATHERINE  CAMPBELL. 


19 


You  are  Agoing  too  far,  sir ! I do  not  know  by  what 
means  you  have  gained  my  father’s  good  opinion,  but 
he  will  not  control  mine.  You  have  twice  asked  me  to 
marry  you,  and  I tell  you,  now  and  always,  No ! And  if 
you  persecute  me  any  more,  I shall  inform  my  friends.” 

With  this  she  turned  her  head  slightly,  indicating 
with  a sweep  the  friends  referred  to,  — that  is  to  say, 
everybody.  This  was  ''  too  many  ” for  Mr.  Howe,  who 
knew  very  well  with  what  executive  power  public  opin- 
ion would  set  about  the  protection  of  its  favorite.  Al- 
ready one  or  two  had  noticed  Kate’s  flushed  cheek  and 
earnest  manner,  though  they  had  not  heard  her  words ; 
and  one  called  out  across  the  room,  What ’s  up,  Kate  ? 
Don’t  you  take  any  more  of  Hank’s  lip-currency  than 
suits  you ! ” 

"'Nothing’s  up,”  replied  Kate,  with  instant  self-con- 
trol. "Mr.  Howe  and  I have  had  a little  argument, 
that’s  all.  A sort  of  two-handed  euchre,  you  know, 
Tom ; quite  harmless  and  rather  stupid.  There  are  no 
stakes.  I never  play  for  stakes.” 

Her  laughing  reply  quieted  curiosity;  and  no  one 
heard  Mr.  Howe’s  significant  whisper,  as  he  rose  to  re- 
turn to  his  friends  who,  with  " whistles  wet  ” and  " main- 
braces  spliced,”  in  other  words,  having  drunk  their  fill 
for  a time,  had  come  back  to  the  poker-table,  and  were 
now  vociferously  commanding  him  to  make  haste  and 
" ante  up.”  He  responded  to  the  call  with  easy  indif- 
ference, only  pronouncing  a few  words  for  Miss  Camp- 
bell’s private  ear.  "No  stakes,”  he  said,  "except  a 
father  or  so.  Say,  for  instance,  a father  in  State’s  prison  ! ” 


20 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


The  arrow  evidently  struck  home ; but  she  took  the 
wound  bravely.  ''I  do  not  understand  you,  sir;  and 
your  friends  are  waiting  for  you.” 

You  understand  me  very  well,  my  dear  Miss  Camp- 
bell,” he  replied  with  cool  insolence  ; ''  and  I shall  have 
the  pleasure  to  repeat  and  explain  my  little  proposition 
to-morrow.” 

So  saying,  and  waiting  for  no  rejoinder,  he  returned  to 
the  eager  card-players,  and  was  soon  imperturbably  ab- 
sorbed in  the  tactics  of  the  game,  while  the  place  he  had 
just  vacated  was  filled  by  Andrew  Campbell  himself. 

Fine  fellow,  that  Mr.  Harrison  Howe,”  said  he,  with 
a sort  of  timid  eagerness.  A very  fine  fellow,  Katie ; 
so  gentlemanly  — ” 

A gentleman  gambler  and  villain ! ” exclaimed  the 
daughter ; and  then,  pitying  the  wretched,  helpless  look 
of  her  father,  she  added  in  a gentle  tone,  ''  I cannot  bear 
him,  father ; he  is  a bad  man.  Are  you  really  in  his 
power  ? ” 

Poor  Andrew  Campbell  could  not  be  frank  and  fear- 
less, even  to  his  own  daughter.  ''  0 no,  no,”  he  said 
nervously ; only,  I wish  you  would  be  kind  to  him  — 
for  my  sake.” 

Apparently  much  to  his  relief,  a distant  whoop  from 
the  road  was  heard  at  this  moment,  and  he  started  up 
hastily,  saying,  There  comes  the  coach  ! ” The  sound 
produced  a general  stir  among  the  occupants  of  the 
room.  Everybody  arose  and  crowded  toward  the  door, 
except  the  poker-players,  who  remained,  unheeding  at 
their  game. 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


21 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 

“ Steve ’s  ahead  of  time  to-night/’  remarked  one  of 
the  miners. 

feller  can’t  help  bein’  ahead  o’  time/’  responded 
another,  with  a down  grade,  ’n’  a full  moon,  and  Andy’s 
station  at  the  end  o’  the  road.  You  bet  yer  life,  Steve 
hain’t  no  call  to  be  late,  under  the  circumstances  ! ” And 
the  speaker  winked  at  the  retreating  form  of  Kate,  on 
her  way  to  the  kitchen  to  prepare  for  the  supper  of  the 
expected  passengers. 

A moment  more,  and  the  head-lights  of  the  coach 
were  visible  from  up  the  road ; and  with  much  clatter 
and  raising  of  dust  in  the  moonlight,  the  six  horses 
came  tearing  down,  all  on  the  run,  and  were  suddenly 
pulled  up  by  means  of  reins,  brake,  and  a vociferous 
whoa!  in  front  of  the  door.  The  driver  wound  the 
reins  around  the  brake-bar,  stood  up  in  his  place,  and 
said  cheerily,  Well,  boys,  what ’s  the  good  word  ? ” 

Got  any  passengers,  Steve  ? ” asked  Andrew  Camp- 
bell, peering  into  the  stage. 

''Kot  a soul,  but  I left  three  scaly  specimens  near 
Lije  Pickering’s,  half-way  down  the  Grade.  What  in  thun- 
der did  those  fellers  want  to  get  out  there  for,  I wonder ! 
Asked  one  of  ’em,  and  he  said  they  were  out  a prospectin.’ 


22 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Mighty  curious  way  to  go  prospecting,  five  in  a heap. 
Give  me  one  pardner,  that  I can  freeze  to,  and  nobody 
to  interfere  till  our  claim  is  staked  out,  — hey,  boys  ? 
But  here ’s  your  express-box,  Andy,  The  dust  must  be 
coming  in  lively  from  the  Gulch ; these  boxes  are  getting 
too  heavy  to  be  handy ; and  the  stuff  don’t  come  from 
Knucklesopolis,  that ’s  certain.  The  water ’s  so  low  up 
there  that  they  can’t  mix  drinks,  and  all  the  boys  are 
taking  their  whiskey  straight.  There ’s  some  talk  o’ 
cleaning  out  the  saloons,  and  pouring  the  licker  into  the 
creek,  so’s  to  fill  up  the  sluices.  But  we  can’t  trust 
anybody  to  carry  out  that  plan,  — hey,  boys  ? ” 

While  rattling  off  this  good-humored  nonsense,  Mr. 
Stephen  Moore  vigorously  extricated  from  the  boot 
under  his  seat  a heavy  wooden  box,  bound  with  iron, 
and  fastened  with  a padlock,  which  he  passed  down 
over  the  wheel  to  Andrew  Campbell.  The  latter,  on 
receiving  it,  lugged  it  away  into  the  bar-room,  from  one 
end  of  which  opened  a small  express  office,  where  it  was 
his  duty  to  compare  the  packages  in  the  box  with  the 
list  on  the  express  bill.  During  this  performance  the 
door  of  the  office  was  locked. 

The  driver  meanwhile  descended  from  his  seat,  bring- 
ing his  flat  leather  pocket,”  which  contained  the  way- 
bill of  passengers  and  freight,  to  be  turned  over  to  the 
driver  on  the  next  route.  He  paid  no  more  attention  to 
the  horses  than  a railway  conductor  pays  to  the  engine. 
He  had  brought  the  stage  in,  safe  and  early ; the  rest 
was  the  hostler’s  business ; and  that  official  had  already 
unfastened  the  traces,  and  left  the  animals  to  walk  in 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


23 


docile  procession  to  the  stable.  This  they  did,  while  the 
moon  illuminated  their  shining,  steaming  sides,  until 
they  escaped  the  range  of  her  rays,  and  entered  the 
domain  of  the  dim  lantern,  which  swung  from  the 
middle  of  the  stable  ceiling. 

Steve  exchanged  more  special  and  personal  greetings 
with  the  members  of  the  group,  most  of  whom  he 
seemed  to  know;  and  the  whole  party,  pervaded  with 
a certain  disappointment  at  the  lack  of  new  tidings 
and  new  faces,  returned  to  the  sitting-room.  Here 
the  driver  pulled  off  a huge  overcoat,  made  of 
yellow  blanket,  which  reached  to  his  heels;  proceeded 
to  a small  sink  in  one  corner,  which  bore  a tin  basin ; 
replenished  the  basin  from  a pail  close  by,  and,  plunging 
his  head  into  it,  scrubbed,  puffed,  and  gurgled  in  an 
extraordinary  manner  for  several  minutes,  after  which 
he  arranged  his  hair,  with  the  aid  of  a pocket-comb, 
before  a small  cracked  mirror  which  hung  above  the 
basin,  and  at  last  rejoined  the  company,  with  an  air  that 
plainly  said,  There,  now  I feel  respectable,  and  ready 
for  supper.” 

The  change  produced  in  his  appearance  by  this  un- 
wrapping and  ablution  would  have  surprised  an  ob- 
server not  accustomed  to  the  disguising  effects  of  the 
dust  of  really  dusty  countries,  like  California  in  the 
dry  season.  A moment  before,  his  dimensions,  com- 
plexion, and  even  his  features,  had  been  scarcely  distin- 
guishable ; now  he  appeared  a stout,  active  young  fellow 
of  perhaps  thirty  years,  with  a clear  red-and-brown 
cheek,  keen  gray  eyes,  and  short,  curly,  brown  hair. 


24 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


His  face  was  shaven,  leaving  a mustache  and  goatee, 
of  peculiar  form,  much  affected  by  stage-drivers,  and 
scarcely  to  be  described  intelligibly,  save  to  those  who, 
having  seen  it,  need  no  further  description.  It  consists 
in  leaving  the  whole  beard  under  the  chin  and  jaw,  as 
far  as  a line  drawn  obliquely  downward  and  backward 
from  the  corner  of  the  mouth.  Steve’s  beard  was  faded 
somewhat  by  exposure  to  the  weather,  but  it  became 
him  well. 

Supper  was  not  yet  announced ; for  the  stage  from  the 
west  was  still  expected.  Stephen  Moore  crossed  the 
room  to  take  his  seat  before  the  fire,  but  paused  as  he 
observed  the  group  of  card-players.  Howe  was  by  this 
time  a heavy  winner,  and  the  rest  were  losing  in  pro- 
portion. Two  of  them  greeted  Stephen  with  friendly 
but  careless  nods ; the  third  pulled  his  slouched  hat  a 
little  farther  over  his  eyes,  and  seemed  to  avoid  notice ; 
the  fourth,  Mr.  Harrison  Howe,  gave  the  stage-driver  the 
cut  direct,  and  remarked  quietly  that  he  would  raise 
that,  twenty  dollars.”  But  Stephen’s  quick  eye  took  in 
at  a glance  the  situation  of  affairs,  and  particularly,  as 
a very  important  element  in  that  situation,  the  tip  end 
of  an  extra  card,  dexterously  concealed  under  Mr. 
Howe’s  cuff.  His  glance,  lifted  from  this  interesting 
object,  met  the  glance  of  the  gambler.  A second  before, 
the  latter  had  affected  not  to  notice  him ; now  they  glared 
silently,  and  knew  one  another  intimately. 

In  after-times,  when  this  story  was  related  in  the 
cabins  of  the  Sierra,  the  narrator  used  to  say,  Ye  see, 
Steve,  he  was  as  brave  as  a grizzly  b’ar,  but  he  was 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


25 


smart  too.  What  he  did  n’t  know  was  pretty  lean  tail- 
ings,* and  not  worth  pannin’  out.  He  was  n’t  goin’  to  in- 
terfere di-rect  with  a desp’rate  man,  an’  get  a quarrel  put 
onto  him,  an’  hev  a hole  or  mebbe  six  holes  made  in 
him,  all  about  a game,  whar  he  warn’t  noways  interested. 
He  warn’t  on  the  fight,  to  that  extent.” 

Whether  it  was  this  sort  of  wisdom,  or  a sense  of 
humor,  or  a sudden  whim,  that  moved  the  stage-driver, 
his  first  words  seemed  to  afford  relief  to  the  detected 
Howe,  and  to  establish  at  least  an  armed  truce  between 
them.  ''  Hello,  Hank,”  said  he ; “ passing  the  time  agree- 
ably, are  ye  ? Ye  ’ll  have  to  shut  down  on  that,  though, 
if  ye  ’re  going  to  ride  guard  over  Wells  Fargo’s  box. 
They  ain’t  over-fond  o’  having  their  messengers  play 
poker.  Ye  ’re  looking  pale,  too ; these  gentlemen  ’ll 
have  to  excuse  ye ; and  I ’ll  take  yer  hand,  just  as  the 
game  stands.  Give  ye  a chance  to  change  your  luck,  — 
hey,  boys  ? ” 

Two  of  the  players  eagerly  accepted  the  change  as  a 
providential  turn  of  the  tide  which  had  been  setting  so 
strongly  against  them.  The  man  in  a slouched  hat 
muttered  that  he  wanted  to  stick  to  the  lead  he  was 
on  ” ; but  Hank  rose  promptly  from  the  table,  and  re- 
signed his  place  with  alacrity.  The  stage-driver  insisted 
on  a new  deal,  and  the  game  began  again  with  vigor, 
and  with  much  more  noise,  thanks  to  his  running  accom- 

* Tailings  are  the  refuse  sands  from  sluices  or  stamp-mills.  When 
sufficiently  valuable,  they  are  treated  again,  to  extract  the  gold,  silver, 
or  amalgam  which  they  may  contain.  Gold-tailings,  like  auriferous 
earth,  may  be  tested  by  washing  small  quantities  in  a pan,  or  “pan- 
ning out.” 


2 


26 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


paniment  of  jokes  and  exclamations.  Howe  walked 
away  and  seated  himself  before  the  fire,  with  the  cool 
indifference  of  his  tribe.  His  game  was  up  for  that 
occasion,  he  well  knew ; it  was  of  no  use  to  get  angry, 
about  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  his  best  policy  to  take 
things  cheerfully,  and  avoid,  if  possible,  any  immediate 
exposure.  If  Moore  should  at  any  future  time  accuse 
him  of  the  crime  of  cheating  at  cards,  it  would  then  be 
easy  to  give  him  the  lie  — or  kill  him. 

The  bad  luck  of  the  stage-driver  was  amazing.  He 
lost  repeatedly,  but  that  seemed  only  to  increase  his 
enjoyment.  After  every  loss  he  bet  still  higher,  and 
“ bluffed  ’’  with  invariable  bad  success.  The  two  victims 
of  Howe’s  skill  speedily  perceived  that  they  had  only  to 
be  bold,  and  win ; for  when  a man  is  known  to  be  bluff- 
ing (that  is,  betting  high  on  a poor  hand  in  order  to 
frighten  the  other  players)  he  is  certain  to  be  come  up 
with.”  But  Steve  bet  and  lost,  and  bet  and  lost,  calling 
out  to  the  discomfited  Howe  across  the  room,  ''  Tell  you 
what.  Hank,  I ’m  glad  this  is  your  pile,  and  not  mine. 
Fact  is,  it ’s  thawing  away  faster  ’n  the  Mikosmy  * ice, 
that  time  the  ferry  boys  bet  with  Sol  Eedwood.” 

Let ’s  have  that  story,  Steve  ! ” cried  several  voices ; 
but  Steve  protested  that  he  must  attend  to  his  game, 
which  needed  doctoring.”  With  all  his  carelessness,  he 
kept  a wary  eye  on  the  man  with  a slouched  hat,  and  so 
managed  affairs  that  the  latter  did  not  share  in  the  good 
luck  of  the  other  two.  But  the  matter  was  not  alto- 

* The  current  popular  pronunciation  of  the  name  of  the  Cosumnes 
River. 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


27 


gether  in  his  control ; and  it  happened  at  last,  under  the 
rules  of  the  game  (which  need  not  here  he  particularly 
explained),  that  the  sullen  player,  who  had  waited  long  for 
his  chance,  at  last  obtained  it.  The  stakes  were  higher 
than  ever.  Steve  had  risked  the  last  of  Howe’s  win- 
nings, and  professed  to  expect  to  ''  rake  down  the  pile, 
or  bust  ” ; when  the  stranger,  instead  of  retiring  from  the 
contest,  and  submitting  to  lose  the  small  amount  he  had 
thus  far  risked  on  his  hand,  suddenly  overtopped  every- 
body with  a bet  of  great  amount,  and  defiantly  produced 
another  bag  of  gold-dust.  Hope  fied  once  more  from 
the  faces  of  the  two  players,  who  saw  themselves  about 
to  lose  again  all  they  had  regained.  Even  the  stage- 
driver  hesitated  for  a moment,  undecided  what  course  to 
pursue.  Then  he  said  coolly,  Don’t  you  put  down  your 
money,  my  friend,  till  you  look  at  your  cards  again  — all 
of  'em.  We  don’t  want  any  mistakes  in  this  game.” 

The  man  paused ; and  at  this  moment  Harrison  Howe 
arose  from  his  seat,  and  passed  with  an  indifferent  air 
behind  Steve’s  chair.  ^'No  use  betting  against  that 
hand,”  he  said  carelessly,  and  so  low  that  no  one  heard 
but  Stephen  and  the  unknown  player,  who  thereupon, 
with  a muttered  oath,  said  he  believed  he  was  mistaken, 
returned  his  dust  to  his  pocket,  shoved  his  cards  hastily 
into  the  heap  of  discarded  ones  on  the  table,  and  adding, 
with  ill-assumed  ease,  That  lets  me  out,”  left  the  table 
altogether.  As  he  passed  Howe,  the  latter  whispered  to 
him  unobserved,  You  fool,  in  another  minute  you  would 
have  had  him  counting  the  aces  in  the  pack.” 

Steve  paid  no  further  attention  to  the  couple,  but  pro- 


28 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


ceeded  to  lose  all  the  stakes  in  a most  exhilarating 
manner;  and  then,  rising  from  the  table,  remarked, 
''  Well,  that  beats  all ; Hank  ’ll  have  to  play  for  me, 
some  time,  just  to  make  things  even.  Why,  there’s 
Kate ! now  I should  n’t  wonder  if  I ’d  kept  a lady 
waiting.” 

Kate  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  said  supper  was  ready. 
There  was  no  use  in  delaying  it  longer  for  the  up  coach. 
So  Stephen,  secretly  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  supper 
with  no  other  company  than  the  attendance  of  the  fair 
hostess  (the  rest  having  had  their  evening  meal  two 
hours  before),  followed  her  into  the  spacious  kitchen. 
They  were  no  sooner  out  of  the  room  than  she  turned 
upon  him  in  reproach : "'  It  is  too  bad,  Steve ; you  prom- 
ised me  that  you  would  not  gamble  any  more,  and  now 
you  are  just  as  foolish  as  the  rest.” 

"Well  now,  Kate,”  replied  the  stage-driver,  "don’t 
crack  your  whip  before  your  leaders  are  hitched  up.  I 
was  only  a-turning  the  tables  on  my  beloved  friend,  Mr. 
Howe.  You  see  those  two  sharps  had  aces  in  their 
boots  and  sleeves  till  you  could  n’t  rest ; and  if  the  boys 
had  found  ’em  out,  there ’d  ’a’  been  shooting,  or  worse. 
Maybe  somebody ’d  ’a’  danced  in  the  air  with  his  boots 
off,  right  in  front  of  your  house.  There ’s  trees  handy. 
But  I don’t  like  that  kind  o’  thing,  not  along  the  road ; 
it  scares  bosses,  and  sets  ’em  to  shying  and  backing  and 
fooling  generally.  No  more  don’t  I want  shooting 
around  this  shebang.  It  spiles  the  furniture  and  fixin’s, 
and  gives  folks  unpleasant  idees  about  the  house.  Kow 
shooting  on  a claim  is  another  thing.  It  doubles  the 


THE  STAGE-DEIVEK. 


29 


value  of  a piece  o’  ground  to  have  a fight  over  it,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  way  it  clears  up  the  title.  Besides, 
even  if  I was  inclined  to  draw  on  one  o’  those  fellers 
(an’  there ’s  no  use  in  denying  that  I do  feel  that  way 
about  Hank  Howe),  I had  n’t  a show  to-night ; left  my 
six-shooter,  like  a fool,  on  the  seat  of  the  coach.  Handy 
for  road-agents,  but  no  use  to  me  just  when  I might  ’a’ 
wanted  it.  A man  ought  to  go  heeled,^  if  he  expects  to 
have  dealings  with  Hank  Howe  and  his  crowd.” 

As  he  spoke,  he  had  seated  himself  at  the  table,  boun- 
tifully spread  with  the  solid  viands  which  the  ranch 
afforded,  and  with  those  delicacies  which  the  precious 
art  of  ''  canning”  has  made  so  common  in  all  the  West. 
The  high  cost  of  freight,  hindering  the  transportation  of 
bulky  and  heavy  articles,  but  permitting  that  of  many 
of  the  mere  adornments  and  superfluities  of  life,  led  to 
strange  contrasts  in  the  dwellings  of  the  Pacific  slope. 
Eudely  constructed  furniture,  ceilings  of  cotton  cloth, 
and  unpainted  floors,  marked  the  habitations  of  people 
who  wore  rich  jewelry  and  silks ; the  finest  French 
wines  and  Cuban  cigars  were  sold  over  rough  counters  in 
log-houses  or  tents ; and  upon  tables  furnished  with  tin 
for  crockery  were  piled  the  products  of  all  lands,  from 
the  ginger  and  citron  of  far  Cathay  to  the  macaroni  of 
Naples,  the  oysters  of  Fairhaven,  and  the  bananas  and 
oranges  of  Mazatlan  and  Los  Angeles.  Never  again, 
perhaps,  will  society  so  nearly  realize  the  famous  Gallic 
aspiration,  ''  Give  me  the  luxuries  of  life,  and  I will  dis- 
pense with  its  necessaries.” 


Armed. 


30 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


But  Stephen,  accustomed  to  this  phenomenon,  gave  it 
no  thought.  As  he  prepared  to  attack  the  mutton  stew 
which  formed  the  citadel  of  the  repast,  he  paused  in  his 
reckless  talk,  and  said  in  a changed  tone,  ''  Now,  really, 
Kate,  you  ain’t  down  on  me,  — are  you  ? ” Then,  per- 
ceiving she  had  partly  relented,  he  added  in  his  former 
strain,  ''You  see,  I would  ’a’  brought  that  six-shooter 
in,  if  I had  known  you  preferred  it.” 

She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  "No,  no!”  she  re- 
plied, " don’t  say  such  dreadful  things.  But  you  have  n’t 
told  me  why  you  went  and  gambled.” 

" That  ’ll  make  a good  story,”  chuckled  Stephen.  " It 
was  about  the  neatest  thing  on  Hank  Howe  that 
ever  he  struck.  I just  let  him  see  that  he  was 
found  out,  and  says  I to  him,  ' I ’ll  play  your  hand. 
Hank,  just  as  it  is’;  and  he  behaved  very  quiet  and 
gentlemanly,  you  bet.  So  there  I sat,  and  I showed 
’em  poker.  The  two  boys  from  the  Gulch  were  about 
cleaned  out  when  I took  a-holt ; and  you  ought  to  have 
seen  how  they  freshened  up  1 Hey,  boys  ? ” ejaculated 
Steve,  forgetting  that  no  boys  were  present. 

" Well,  I allow  it  took  about  twenty  minutes  to  lose 
Hank’s  pile.  But  that  pardner  o’  his  like  to  have  spoilt 
it  all  — the  blame  fool ! — trying  to  win  the  money  back. 
Hank  was  too  smart  to  let  him,  though.  So  the  Gulch 
boys  have  got  their  money  again ; and  you  see,  I have  n’t 
really  gambled  any,  Kate.  It  was  a put-up  game,  you 
might  say  two  put-up  games;  first  Hank’s,  and  then 
mine ! But  mine  rather  laid  over  his.  Hey,  boys  ? ” 
And  Steve  plunged  into  his  supper. 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


31 


Kate  seated  herself  opposite  him,  and  watched  him 
for  a few  moments  with  an  abstracted  gaze,  leaning  her 
two  elbows  on  the  table,  and  holding  her  chin  in  her 
hands.  At  last  she  broke  silence.  I want  to  talk  to 
you,  about  father  — and  so  forth.’’ 

Now’s  your  chance,”  responded  Steve,  promptly; 
the  passengers  are  aboard,  and  the  agent  says.  Time. 
Drive  on ! But  it ’s  all  right  about  the  poker,  ain’t  it  ? 
It  was  a put-up  game,  you  know.  Hank  could  see  that, 
when  he  came  down,  then  an’  thar.  But  he ’s  figuring 
to  get  even,  somehow.”  ‘ 

“ Yes,  yes,”  interrupted  the  girl,  impatiently ; it  was 
all  right,  I suppose.  Just  like  you,  at  any  rate,  getting 
into  other  folks’  quarrels.  Not  that  I object  to  that, 
Steve,”  she  added  half  sadly ; for  the  fact  is,  I want 
you  to  give  me  a lift  in  my  own  affairs.” 

A free  ride,  just  as  far  as  you  like,”  vehemently  in- 
terjected the  stage-driver;  adding,  under  his  breath, 
wish  it  was  for  the  whole  everlasting  round  trip  ! ” 

But  she  paid  no  attention  to  his  outburst,  and  con- 
tinued calmly,  I have  nobody  but  you  to  go  to,  Stephen; 
and  somehow  I think  you  can  do  something  for  me. 
That  Mr.  Harrison  Howe  has  been  talking  to  father  and 
frightening  him ; and  father  seems  to  be  on  his  side ; 
and  — and  so  it’s  two  to  one,  which  isn’t  fair.” 

Stephen  read  more  in  her  faltering  tones  than  in  her 
vague  words,  and,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork,  looked 
steadily  into  her  face.  ^^Do  you  like  that  feller?” 
said  he. 

I hate  him ! ” she  replied,  passionately. 


32 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


“Now,  don’t  you  say  that,”  returned  the  driver,  with 
whimsical  philosophy;  “if  you  hate  a fellow,  you’ll 
think  a heap  too  much  of  him;  and  particularly  you 
can’t  play  agin  him  and  win,  unless  you  keep  cool,  and 
take  it  easy.  What’s  he  driving  at?  Let’s  hear  the 
whole  story,  Kate ; no  use  trying  to  tinker  a coach  with 
the  thoroughbrace  broke.  Have  her  into  the  shop  and 
overhaul  her  thoroughly,  or  else  pitch  her  off  the  grade 
and  done  with  it.” 

“ He  has  asked  me  twice  to  marry  him,”  said  Kate, 
desperately,  “ and  father  says  I must  be  kind  to  him.” 

Stephen  ruminated  grimly  for  a moment,  and  then 
remarked  with  solemnity,  “Well,  so  you  must;  you  be 
kind  to  him,  and  I ’ll  take  charge  of  the  hating  busi- 
ness. No,  I won’t  hate  him  neither ; but  I ’ll  spoil  his 
little  game,  and  I ’ll  run  him  out  of  camp,  as  sure  as  my 
name ’s  Stephen  Moore.  What  sort  o’  holt  has  he  got 
on  the  old  man,  Kate  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know ; he  said  something  to  me  about  State’s 
prison,”  replied  Kate,  evasively. 

“Well,  now,  it  ain’t  my  gait,  you  know,  to  go  asking 
unnecessary  questions,  and  it  don’t  make  the  difference 
of  an  old  horseshoe  to  me,  anyhow;  but,  Kate,  was 
the  old  man  in  any  kind  o’  scrape  — dead  broke,  you 
know,  down  on  his  luck,  under  a shadder  — when  he 
left  the  States  ? ” 

She  looked  at  him  with  evident  pain  and  embarrass- 
ment ; but  she  scorned  to  hide  her  glowing  cheek.  It 
was  Katherine  Campbell’s  way  to  face  the  worst.  “ I 
have  promised  my  father,”  she  said,  “ never  to  speak  of 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


33 


the  past.  But,  0 Stephen ! he  is  a good  man.  Do  be- 
lieve that,  and  don't  give  us  up.  We  have  nobody  but 
you,  and  you  have  been  like  a brother  to  me." 

“ Brother  be  hanged  ! " replied  Stephen ; I ain’t 
much  in  the  brother  line.  Kate,  could  n’t  you  give  me 
a little  promotion  on  that  ? I ain’t  fit  to  be  your  hus- 
band, though  I have  improved  since  you  took  the  reins ; 
but  if  such  infernal  smooth  scoundrels  as  Hank  Howe 
are  prospecting  around,  I don’t  see  why  I shouldn’t 
have  a show.  Marry  me,  Kate,  marry  me  ! ’’ 

She  seemed  nowise  agitated  by  this  sudden  proposal ; 
her  mind  was  too  full  of  its  anxiety  concerning  her 
father.  Evidently  the  power  which  Howe  had  gained 
over  him  was  more  alarming  to  her  than  its  possible 
results  regarding  herself.  ''Don’t  make  me  drive  you 
away,  Stephen,’’  she  said ; " I cannot  lose  a friend,  and 
I cannot  take  a husband.  Besides,’’  she  continued,  more 
cheerfully,  "you  have  n’t  considered.  You  want  to  help 
me,  and  you  think  that  is  the  shortest  way.  You 
have  n’t  thought  of  marrying  anybody  until  this  min- 
ute. W^e  will  go  back,  won’t  we,  to  where  we  were 
before  ? ’’ 

" What,  and  say  it  all  over  again  ? ’’  quoth  Stephen,  with 
not  altogether  sincere  gayety.  " I don’t  know  but  you  ’re 
right,  Kate ; I had  n’t  thought  o’  marrying  before,  though 
it  sort  o’  seems  as  if  I should  n’t  think  o much  else 
from  now  on.  But  I ’ll  turn  it  over.  There ’s  plenty  o’ 
time  to  turn  over  things  on  the  box.  Anyhow,  it  sha  n t 
make  any  difference  between  us.  Brother  ain’t  much, 
but  it ’s  better  than  nothing.  And  when  you  are  ready 
2* 


c 


34 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


to  ' begin  again/  as  yon  say,  I ’ll  ' pop  ’ again,  — hey, 
Kate?" 

And  will  you  help  my  father  ? " she  asked  earnestly, 
intent  on  that  point,  and  ignoring  all  else. 

I can’t  drive  when  I don’t  see  my  leaders,  say  noth- 
ing of  the  wheel-horses,’’  replied  Steve,  laconically ; ''  but 
I ’ll  do  my  best.  If  the  old  man  gets  in  a scrape,  I ’ll  do 
my  level  best.  And  as  for  Hank  Howe,  I ’ll  settle  his 
bill.  Ko,  you  needn’t  look  scared;  no  shooting,  if  I 
can  help  it.  But  whatever  I do,  will  you  trust  me, 
Kate  ? ’’ 

Always ; and  will  you  trust  us  ? ’’  said  she,  with  an 
emphasis  on  the  plural  pronoun. 

You  ? ’’  replied  Stephen,  rejoicing  in  the  convenient 
ambiguity ; ''  yes,  I ’ll  trust  you ; give  us  your  hand 
on  it.’’ 

She  stretched  a little  brown  hand  across  the  table, 
and  he  swallowed  it  up  for  an  instant  in  his  mighty 
paw,  and  let  it  go  again.  It  was  no  lover’s  caress ; only 
a good  square  promise  ’’  of  mutual  faith,  after  which 
Kate  left  the  table  and  the  room,  and  Stephen  made 
rapid  work  with  his  supper,  to  atone  for  lost  time.  A 
man  can  talk  to  himself,  however,  if  not  to  another, 
while  his  mouth  is  full ; so  the  stage-driver’s  supper  did 
not  prevent  him  from  a lively  inward  monologue,  which 
found  unintelligible  utterance,  or  none  at  all,  according 
to  his  varying  mood.  To  a listener  inside  of  him,  it 
might  have  sounded  somewhat  as  follows  : — 

She ’s  pure  gold,  every  grain  of  her.  I ain’t  so  sure 
about  the  old  man,  though.  Always  thought  there  was 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


35 


something  wrong  about  Gentleman  Andy.  Too  much 
manners,  and  no  savey,  and  no  fight.  He ’s  been  dead 
broke,  some  time  or  other,  and  never  got  over  it.  Kate 
thinks  he ’s  innocent : what ’s  the  use  o’  thinking  that  ? 
It ’s  no  good  being  innocent,  till  somebody  says  you  ’re 
guilty.  Let  a fellow  call  me  innocent,  now ! I ’d  give 
him  an  inside  seat  in  the  ambulance  ! Innocent ! look 
like  it,  don’t  I,  — hey,  boys  ? ” and  he  chuckled  till  he 
choked. 

Kate  rather  shied  off  about  the  marrying  business. 
Served  me  right ; I had  no  call  to  come  down  on  her 
that  way,  with  six  in  hand,  and  the  brake  all  loose,  and 
she  busy  looking  after  the  old  man.  But  she  was  n’t 
flustered  much;  she  got  out  of  the  way  as  easy  as  a 
chicken.  You  never  can  run  over  a chicken,  if  you 
drive  your  prettiest.  They  take  their  time,  and  always 
have  exactly  enough,  — one  hundred  per  cent,  and  no 
tailings.  That ’s  Kate,  all  over ; only  she  don’t  flutter 
nor  squawk. 

Can’t  quite  see  into  that  Hank  Howe’s  hand.  If 
I ’ve  got  to  play  him,  I ’d  like  to  hold  the  cards.  But 
he ’s  got  ’em  all,  so  far.  If  I could  get  a purchase  on 
him  somehow,  I could  pry  him  out ; but  while  he  keeps 
dark  he ’s  too  many  for  me.  What  ever  put  it  into  the 
head  of  that  agent  up  at  ’Opolis  to  make  him  a messen- 
ger to  guard  the  company’s  treasure-box  ! I never  had 
a coach  robbed  under  me ; don’t  want  any  better  mes- 
senger than  my  six-shooter.  When  that  agent  told  me 
this  morning  that  there  was  danger  on  the  road,  I just 
laughed  in  his  face.  But  he  stuck  to  it ; and  says  he. 


36 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


' Mr.  Howe  is  a reliable  man ; he  went  down  to  Andy’s 
a day  or  two  ago,  and  he  ’ll  come  back  with  you,  so  as  to 
ride  guard  alongside  o’  you  on  the  next  trip  down.  We 
are  going  to  send  a big  lot  o’  dust.’  I did  n’t  like  his 
speaking  of  it,  even  to  me ; and  I told  him  so,  square. 
But  he  said  the  responsibility  was  with  him ; and,  for 
that  matter,  if  there ’s  such  an  almighty  lot  o’  dust,  I ’d 
rather  have  a guard,  and  so  give  my  mind  to  my  busi- 
ness. But  there ’s  no  call  to  talk  about  it ; and  I ’m 
afraid  there ’s  some  deviltry  agoing ; that  Howe  is  in  it 
sure,  if  there  is.” 

This  meditation  was  interrupted  by  the  distant  whoop 
of  the  driver  of  the  up-coach,  and  the  sound  of  many 
feet  hastening  out  to  the  piazza.  The  scene  had  no 
special  attractions  for  Stephen ; and  he  made  no  move- 
ment towards  joining  the  crowd,  but  concluded  his 
supper  while  the  stage  drove  up  to  the  station,  and  the 
passengers  and  driver  dismounted,  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  and  made  their  hasty  toilets  at  the  corner  wash- 
stand.  As  he  rose  to  leave  the  kitchen  the  door  opened, 
and  three  persons  entered  to  take  their  seats  at  the 
table : to  wit,  the  driver,  a heavy,  good-natured,  and 
taciturn  fellow;  Mr.  Johnson,  an  affable  stranger;  and 
Mr.  Philip  Bussell,  of  whom  the  reader  will  presently 
hear  further. 

Steve  exchanged  a word  or  two  with  the  driver,  who 
responded  to  his  questions  that  the  boys  were  all  well 
along  the  road,  and  that  these  were  the  only  passengers 
he  had ; perhaps  there ’d  be  some  more  going  from 
Andy’s. 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER. 


37 


"'Nobody  that  I know  of  but  Hank  Howe/'  growled 
Stephen.  " He 's  coming  down  as  guard  to-morrow. 
Much  freight  ? " 

"No,  light  load." 

" Then  I might  as  well  hold  on  here  till  after  mid- 
night. I can  fetch  it  into  town  in  five  hours,  easy, 
grade  and  all ; and  the  coach  don’t  go  on  from  there  till 
after  breakfast.  This  is  the  best  place  to  do  your  wait- 
ing in,  — hey.  Bill  ? " 

Bill  nodded  gravely,  and  " went  for  his  grub." 


38 


BRA.VE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

SUNSET. 

Since  the  days  of  Horace,  it  has  been  the  duty  of  the 
author  to  plunge  '4nto  the  midst  of  things'’;  though 
Mother  Goose  has  clearly  shown  that  by  so  doing  he 
may  scratch  out  both  his  eyes,  — which  I take  to  be  a 
figurative  expression,  signifying  the  sacrifice  of  clear- 
ness in  his  narrative.  This  interpretation  is  confirmed 
by  the  remainder  of  the  experience  of  the  wise  man  in 
the  bramble-bush,  which  declares,  as  plainly  as  words 
may  do  it,  that  the  author  can  only  repair  this  damage 
by  jumping  into  the  midst  of  things  again,  — to  make 
one  confusion  clear  up  the  other. 

The  reader  must  share  this  violent  exercise,  involving 
in  the  present  case  no  less  than  a back-somersault  across 
the  continent ; since  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  apropos 
of  a personage  introduced  in  the  last  chapter,  to  set 
forth  who  the  young  man  is,  and  why  the  young  man 
went  West. 

The  Fall  Eiver  steamer  was  well  on  her  way.  She 
had  moved  majestically  down  the  Hudson,  rounded  the 
Battery  with  stately  grace,  swiftly  traversed  the  East 
Eiver,  between  the  spires  and  masts  of  two  great  cities, 
threaded  the  narrow  channel  of  Hurlgate,  and  finally, 
bidding  good-by  to  the  land,  turned  her  prow  to  the 


SUNSET. 


39 


far  sea-horizon,  and  began  to  lay  her  course  by  faith, 
instead  of  sight.  It  was  a summer  evening,  and  the 
boat  was  crowded  with  passengers,  to  whom  the  cool 
breezes  of  the  Sound  were  a welcome  relief  after  the 
heat  of  the  day  in  the  brick  ovens  of  the  city.  The 
sun,  which  had  been  a pitiless  inquisitor  all  day,  seemed 
to  have  changed  his  character  as  soon  as  the  steamer 
started,  and  to  be  bent  on  pleasing  the  public.  For 
their  amusement,  he  had  set  ablaze  all  the  windows  of 
the  houses  on  Brooklyn  Heights,  tipped  with  lustre  the 
rigging  of  the  ships  and  the  wrinkled  waters  of  the 
river,  and  dropped  purple  shadows  on  the  distant  Jersey 
hills;  and  now  that  all  these  objects  had  been  left 
behind,  he  was  preparing,  out  of  the  simple  matenals  of 
cloud  and  sky  and  evening  breeze,  a panorama  of  celestial 
splendor. 

This  sunset  is  part  of  my  story.  It  would  in  all 
probability  never  have  been  so  but  for  the  circumstance 
that  nearly  all  the  passengers  had  forsaken  the  deck  for 
the  superior  delights  of  dinner  in  the  hold ; so  that  two 
young  persons,  seated  by  the  flag-staff  at  the  stern, 
found  themselves  in  comparative  solitude.  They  were 
not  romantic  above  their  fellow-men;  they  had  dined 
already,  and  candor  compels  me  to  add,  (though  who 
does  not  know  it  is  a bad  habit  ?)  that  one  of  them  was 
smoking.  Let  it  be  said  at  least,  in  mitigation  of  his 
sin,  that  he  was  smoking  a particularly  good  cigar,  and 
that  his  companion  had  requested  him  to  do  so,  because 
she  liked  it;  from  which  skillful  use  of  pronouns  it 
will  be  inferred  by  the  penetrating  reader  that  one  of 


40 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


these  persons  was  a young  man,  and  the  other  a young 
woman. 

Given,  a summer  evening,  two  such  companions,  and 
a sunset  for  sole  third  (with  a cigar  to  keep  the  young 
man  quiet  and  contemplative  and  platonic),  and  we 
have  all  the  elements  of  an  interview  most  interesting 
to  the  parties.  Wherefore,  as  I said,  the  sunset  is  a 
part  of  the  story. 

All  along  the  western  horizon  lay  a bank  of  smooth 
gray  cloud,  behind  which  the  sun  had  already  sunk,  and 
through  which,  in  a few  zigzag  fiery  fissures,  his  beams 
glowed  redly.  A little  distance  above  this  bank  a 
second  layer  of  cloud  made  a horizontal  division  of  the 
heavens : above  it  the  sky  was  silvery  blue ; below  it, 
apple-green.  In  the  blue  sky  were  rosy  clouds ; in  the 
green,  as  in  a translucent  ocean  of  unfathomable  peace, 
fioated  islets  of  purple.  The  dividing  horizontal  belt 
was  of  delicate  dove-color.  (Just  the  color,  by  the  way, 
of  the  young  lady's  travelling-dress ; but  this  is  an  im- 
pertinent interruption.  Only  such  comparisons  will 
occur  to  the  mind,  you  know,  even  on  the  most  romantic 
occasions ; and  one  must  be  true  to  nature !) 

But  the  most  extraordinary  display  was  in  the  west- 
sou'west.  There  the  cloud-masses  had  shaped  themselves 
into  a colossal  arch,  standing  in  such  a position  that 
one  column,  nearest  the  beholder,  was  dark  and  leaden, 
while  the  remoter  side  was  lit  into  a rosy  lustre  by  the 
oblique  rays  of  the  hidden  sun.  Through  this  arch 
could  be  seen  infinite  depths  of  celestial  green,  and 
above  it  was  the  celestial  blue.  A host  of  clouds  were 


SUNSET. 


41 


drifting  from  the  south,  as  if  to  enter  this  gate.  The 
foremost  ones  had  nearly  reached  it;  their  advanced 
fronts  were  shaped  as  by  some  breeze  blowing  out  of  it, 
against  which  they  were  flying,  with  garments  far- 
trailed  behind;  and  the  sunlight  reaching  through  it 
flushed  a thousand  of  these  angel-heads  with  unutter- 
able, ethereal  beauty.  Hopelessly  dull  must  he  be  who 
could  look  upon  this  marvellous  display  and  not  think 
of  crowned  and  white-robed  angels  trooping  through  the 
shining  gate  into  the  glory  of  heaven  ! 

Alas ! before  the  foremost  angel  passed  the  portal,  it 
crumbled  and  dissolved,  and  his  eager  flight  was  stayed. 
A moment  more,  and  the  whole  celestial  company  was 
swallowed  up  in  mist.  The  sun  went  down  entirely, 
and  only  the  red  after-glow  remained,  a pensive  memory 
of  so  much  splendor. 

The  two  companions  had  not  spoken  a word  during 
this  scene  in  the  sky,  — a proof  that  they  both  appre- 
ciated its  loveliness  and  understood  each  other.  In 
the  company  of  a mere  acquaintance,  one  is  bound  to 
demonstrate  one’s  artistic  sensibility  by  saying,  at  least. 
Oh  ! ” or  A-a-ah  ! ” or  possibly  as  much  as,  What  a 
lovely  bit  of  color ! ” or, How  exquisitely  those  hues 
are  blended  and  contrasted  ! ” It  is  so  easy  for  silence 
to  be  misunderstood.  But  in  this  case  there  was  no 
such  danger  or  necessity ; for  these  persons  knew  each 
other  intimately,  and  loved  each  other  dearly.  In  short, 
— for  I hate  mystery,  — they  were  brother  and  sister, 
and  their  mutual  affection  was  all  that  such  a relation- 
ship implies  when  both  parties  are  refined,  sympathetic. 


42 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


intellectually  mated,  though  not  too  similarly  educated, 
^4n  tastes  alike  and  in  temperament  unlike,”  as  some 
one  has  finely  said ; and,  last  but  not  least,  when  no 
distracting  attachment  to  somebody  else  has  taken  pos- 
session of  the  heart  of  either.  Undoubtedly,  the  strength 
of  their  love  and  admiration  for  each  other  had  done 
much  to  keep  both  heart-whole.  Philip  Ptussell  had 
looked  on  many  a fair  face  without  finding  in  it  a soul 
that  attracted  him ; and  now,  in  his  twenty-fifth  year, 
he  was  accustomed  to  say,  with  the  rashness  of  youth, 
that  he  never  would  marry  until  he  could  meet  a 
woman  as  beautiful  and  wise  and  gentle  as  his  sister. 
As  for  Alice,  she  carried  her  brother’s  image  in  her 
heart,  and  said  nothing  about  it ; though  she  certainly 
did  secretly  measure  other  men,  not  much  to  their  ad- 
vantage, by  the  standard  she  had  created  in  sisterly  ex- 
aggeration of  his  excellences. 

It  must  suffice  to  say  at  present  of  Alice  Eussell,  that 
this  young  lady  had  brown  hair,  brown  eyes,  a trans- 
parent complexion,  regular  and  delicate  features,  and  a 
prevailing  air  of  refinement.  She  was  beautiful,  as 
those  women  are  who  might  be  more  so  if  they  thought 
it  worth  the  trouble.  What  a French  modiste  and  mil- 
liner, careful  protection  from  sun  and  air,  tight  shoes, 
indolence,  and  coquetry,  might  have  done  for  her,  I 
tremble  to  reflect.  Under  such  influences,  she  might 
have  been  a belle.  But  she  would  wear  eye-glasses, 
because  she  wanted  to  see;  and  she  would  play  the 
piano,  and  spoil  her  hands  (on  the  middle  finger  of  one 
of  which,  moreover,  there  was  a little  callous  spot,  just 


SUNSET. 


43 


above  the  pink  nail,  which  indicated  an  unladylike  de- 
votion to  the  use  of  the  pen) ; and  she  would  take  long 
walks  in  large  shoes,  which  everybody  knows  is  ruinous 
to  the  feet ; and  instead  of  smiling,  she  laughed,  which 
did  n’t  suit  her  style  so  well ; and  finally,  she  could  n’t 
manage  sentimental  small-talk,  for  she  was  really  sen- 
timental. On  the  whole,  I suppose  we  must  say  of  her, 
with  Madame  De  Velours  (at  whose  select  establishment 
she  was  not  educated),  that  she  might  have  become, 
under  proper  instruction,  a fine  lady,  and  have  made  a 
sensation  in  society;  but  she  had  thrown  away  her 
chances,  and,  what  was  worse,  she  did  n’t  care.  In  a 
word,  Alice  was  a ^'girl  of  the  period,”  but  of  the 
Boston  type.  This  variety  is  particularly  precious  to 
brothers,  as  the  other  and  more  celebrated  variety  is  not. 

Philip  did  not  closely  resemble  her  in  person  or  in 
mind.  As  I have  said,  their  temperaments  were  un- 
like, and  this  difference  extended  to  their  features. 
He  was  a strong,  healthy,  good-looking  fellow,  with 
tawny  hair  and  gray  eyes,  full  of  fun,  superficially 
irreverent  and  nonchalant,  but  profoundly  honest,  sin- 
cere, and  independent.  Like  many  young  men  of  the 
period,  he  concealed  his  earnest  feelings  with  a mask  of 
indifference  or  jest,  — a practice  which,  bad  as  it  may  be, 
is  much  better  than  that  from  which  it  is  a reaction, 
namely,  the  disguising  of  an  empty  soul  in  the  garments 
of  commonplace.  Alice  understood  him  well  enough  to 
sympathize  with  all  his  moods,  and  to  feel  the  deeper 
thought  beneath  the  lighter  tone.  Though  she  was  two 
years  his  junior,  he  looked  upon  her  with  reverence  as 


44 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


well  as  with  chivalrous  tenderness,  for  at  twenty-three 
girls  are  more  mature  than  their  brothers;  and  Philip 
felt  that  Alice  was  already  a woman  of  rounded  and 
well-poised  character,  and  not  likely  to  change;  while 
he  was,  in  spite  of  his  mustache,  not  quite  a man, — 
only  a college  graduate^  with  unknown  life  before  him, 
and  not  perfectly  sure  either  of  his  beliefs  or  his  powers. 
They  had  been  making  a visit  in  New  York,  and  were 
now  returning  to  their  home  at  Bayport,  — a pretty 
cottage,  which  they  had  inherited  in  common  from  the 
dear  old  sea-captain  who  had  died,  a widower,  but  a few 
months  before,  leaving  his  children  the  homestead,  with 
an  income  that  amounted  to  comparative  wealth  for 
two,  and  with  the  greater  legacy,  bestowed  upon  them 
while  he  lived,  of  a thorough  education.  With  heroic 
self-denial,  he  had  foregone  for  years  the  delight  of  their 
companionship,  dwelling  alone  in  the  consoling  hope  of 
their  return;  and  then,  after  a few  brief  months  of 
happy  reunion.  Captain  Eussell  was  called  away,  and 
obeyed  the  call  without  a murmur.  On  his  death-bed, 
he  talked  with  his  children  in  the  hearty,  unaffected 
way  which  always  marked  him.  I 'm  glad  I did  n’t 
know,”  he  said,  ''how  soon  my  time  would  come.  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  give  you  up  for  so  many  years. 
But  it ’s  all  right ; the  good  times  we  were  going  to  have 
are  only  postponed.  Not  in  this  house,  as  we  expected, 
but  in  the  mansions  yonder.  And  your  mother  will  be 
there.” 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Philip  and  Alice,  having 
lost  the  only  parent  whom  they  could  distinctly  remem- 


SUNSET. 


45 


ber,  — for  their  mother  had  died  a dozen  years  before,  — 
were  all  in  all  to  each  other.  And  now  I return  to  take 
up  my  story  where  I let  it  fall,  and  have  been  hunting 
for  it  ever  since,  namely,  in  the  vanishing  glow  of  the 
sunset. 

Philip  threw  his  cigar  overboard,  and  watched  it  dis- 
appear in  the  churning,  sparkling  wake  of  the  steamer. 
Then  he  broke  silence. 


46 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  V.  - 

WHY  THE  YOUNG  MAN  WENT  WEST. 

I HOPE  all  that  glory  means  something  more  than 
layers  of  air  and  degrees  of  refraction/’  said  Philip. 

You  hnow  it  does  ! ” indignantly  replied  Alice.  You 

are  not  so  — so  shaEow  as  to  deny  the  inner  meaning  of 
beauty.” 

How  I do  delight  to  hear  a young  lady  call  a fellow 
" shallow  ’ ! ” rejoined  Philip,  with  indolent  sarcasm. 

Pray  what  is  ^ shallow,’  and  how  ^ deep  ’ are  any  of 
us  ? However,  I will  confess  that  I believe  there  is 
something  in  beauty  more  subtle  and  spiritual  than  the 
mere  accidental  arrangement  of  proportions  and  colors. 
Only,  I believe  it  with  a special  part  of  my  soul,  which 
may  be  liable  to  delusions.” 

''  Pray,  what  part  of  your  soul  is  n’t  liable  to  delu- 
sions ? ” said  Alice,  mockingly.  If  you  want  to  know 
what  is  ' shallow,’  revise  your  last  remark ! ” 

Fair  being,”  responded  her  brother,  lay  down  these 
weapons  which  beseem  thee  not.  Indeed,  Alice,  if  you 
take  up  the  sarcastic  end  of  the  conversation  and  leave 
me  to  do  the  sentimental,  we  shall  make  a sad  business 
of  it.  Now,  I had  a thought,  an  unspoken  thought,  and 
you  have  gone  and  strangled  it.  Let  us  be  serious.” 

You  know  very  well,  Phil,  that  when  you  begin  to 


WHY  THE  YOUNG  MAN  WENT  WEST. 


47 


be  serious,  you  always  make  fun  of  everything.  Try  to 
be  funny,  dear  boy,  and  the  solemnity  will  come  of 
itself!" 

The  perversity  of  the  young  lady  seemed  only  to 
deepen  the  determination  of  her  brother  to  commence 
an  earnest  talk.  Indeed,  it  was  her  keen  perception  that 
something  of  the  kind  impended  which  led  her  instinc- 
tively to  shrink  from  entering  upon  the  unknown  and 
dreaded  current  of  a conversation  with  Philip.  She 
knew  that  he  must  soon  decide  upon  his  course  in  life ; 
she  feared  that  he  had  already  decided,  or,  what  was  still 
more  perplexing  and  disturbing,  that  he  wanted  advice 
from  her.  But,  driven  to  bay  by  his  evident  determina- 
tion, she  faced  him  at  last  with  a serene  earnestness,  in 
answer  to  which,  without  further  preface,  he  plunged 
into  the  subject  so  near  to  the  heart  of  a young  man, 
namely,  himself. 

''  It  is  n’t  the  meaning  of  beauty  that  troubles  me 
specially,  Alice,  though  that  is  one  of  the  hardest  nuts 
that  philosophers  haA^e  to  crack ; it  is  the  meaning  of 
ever)rthing.  I don’t  mind  telling  you,  because  you  are 
one  of  the  rare  people  Avho  can  sympathize  without 
agreeing,  that  I am  so  racked  with  sceptical  thoughts 
and  moods  as  to  be  quite  demoralized.  It  takes  the 
motive-power  out  of  my  life.  Of  course,  I could  go  to 
work  and  earn  my  living  or  yours,  if  that  were  neces- 
sary, but  it  is  not  necessary ; and  I have  always  felt  that 
a man  of  education  and  leisure  is  called  upon  to  do 
something  more  than  incidentally  to  set  society  the  ex- 
ample of  industry  and  good-nature  and  virtue.  If  I 


48 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


only  felt  settled  myself,  I should  like  to  instruct  my 
fellow-men  in  some  way.  I have  thoughts  enough, 
Heaven  knows,  but  I don’t  feel  sure  of  any  of  them ; 
and  I do  not  wish  to  imitate  those  writers  who  practice 
on  the  public,  and  perpetually  recant  in  their  last  edi- 
tions what  they  propounded  in  their  first.  You  know 
how  I used  to  talk  about  becoming  a minister,  that  is 
to  say,  a preacher;  for  I never  hankered  particularly 
after  the  sewing-societies  and  old-lady  teas.  But  I 
don’t  see  how  honest  and  intelligent  preachers  can  en- 
dure the  burden  of  their  lives,  set  as  they  are  to 
declare  and  illustrate  dogmas,  many  of  which  they  must 
outgrow.  If  there  is  an  unchangeable  truth,  what  is  it  ? 
I ask  Pilate’s  question,  I know;  but  I am  in  earnest 
about  it,  as  he  was  not.” 

''  I don’t  believe  Pilate  meant  anything  so  profound 
with  his  question,”  said  Alice.  It  always  seemed  to 
me  nothing  but  a contemptuous  repetition  of  the  Sa- 
viour’s words, ' I came  to  bear  witness  to  the  truth.  Every 
one  that  is  of  the  truth  heareth  my  voice.’  And  these 
referred,  I think,  not  to  the  whole  truth  and  mystery  of 
life,  but  to  the  moral  truth  of  our  relations  to  God  and 
our  duties  to  one  another.” 

“Well,”  continued  Philip,  “I  don’t  mean  to  talk  the- 
ology or  philosophy,  though  my  head  is  full  of  both ; for 
I have  been  so  much  interested  in  these  things  as  to 
read  furiously,  for  the  last  year,  everything  on  all  sides 
that  seemed  to  offer  any  solution.  Probably  that  is  one 
reason  that  I am  so  unsettled  in  mind.  And  men  are 
just  as  bad  as  books.  Every  one  has  his  own  creed  and 


WHY  THE  YOUNG  MAN  WENT  WEST. 


49 


his  own  words  and  phrases,  with  their  conventional 
meanings ; you  can’t  get  within  a mile  of  understand- 
ing him,  unless  you  begin  by  believing  just  as  he  does. 
I am  sick  of  traveling  round  and  round  in  a circle,  and 
coming  back  upon  my  old  tracks  every  time.  I want  a 
compass  or  a polar  star.” 

Perhaps  I do  not  quite  understand  you,”  said  Alice ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  complaining  of  some- 
thing that  is  universal.  Did  you  not  tell  me  once  that 
no  two  persons  saw  the  same  rainbow  or  the  same  sun- 
set, but  that  each  had  his  own  picture  in  his  own  eye  ? 
If  it  is  so  with  sunsets,  why  not  with  all  truth  ? ” 

An  unlucky  illustration,  Alice ; for  color  is  purely 
a subjective  sensation  of  our  own.  If  there  were  no 
eyes,  the  whole  universe  would  be  dark.  Now,  is  truth 
a phantasm  like  that  ? ” 

Alice  smiled  as  she  said,  You  remind  me  of  the  time 
when  I stood  as  a child  before  the  mirror,  and  vexed 
myself  because  I could  n’t,  by  any  device,  see  how  I 
looked  with  my  eyes  shut ! But  indeed  I do  not  think 
you  have  any  occasion  to  lament  if  you  find  that  spir- 
itual light,  like  physical  hght,  must  be  seen  with  eyes. 
‘ What  care  I how  fair  it  be,  if  it  is  not  fair  for  me  ? ’ 
I ’ll  tell  you,  Philip,”  she  continued,  with  a levity  that 
seemed  a little  forced,  what  is  the  matter  with  you. 
You  are  too  young ; you  must  grow  older.  You  have  n’t 
seen  sunsets  enough.  After  a while  you  will  get  used 
to  them  and  believe  in  them.” 

What  a dear  old  saint  it  is  ! ” cried  Philip.  “ Wliere 
did  it  get  its  vast  experience  of  life  ? ” 

3 


D 


50 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Darning  stockings  for  a dreadful  boy  — a son  of 
mine/’  said  Alice,  archly;  and  then,  with  a sudden 
change  of  tone,  like  a cry  of  pain,  she  continued,  ''  Dear 
Philip,  it  must  be  said ; I have  thought  of  it  so  much 
and  feared  it  so  long,  but  I know  it  is  right,  and  must 
be.  You  ought  to  go  away  from  home.  I shall  be  sad 
enough  without  you,”  she  added,  vainly  attempting  to 
hide  her  gathering  tears ; ''  but  I should  be  more  un- 
happy still  to  think  that  you  were  wasting  the  strength 
of  your  life  for  lack  of  what  a change  of  surroundings 
might  give  you.  You  know  father  used  to  say  a man 
could  n’t  understand  the  world  till  he  had  seen  the  other 
side  of  it.” 

''Well,”  said  Philip,  "where  shall  we  go  ?” 

Alice  shook  her  head  as  she  replied, " No,  not  together ; 
that  is,  not  yet.  I hope  we  shall  go  abroad  some  day  ; 
but  that  is  not  what  you  want  now.  You  have  had  too 
much  of  books  and  of  men  whose  characters  are  formed 
by  books.  It  won’t  help  you  any  to  exchange  philosophies 
for  guide-books,  and  conventional  talkers  for  conven- 
tional travelers.  As  for  me,  I can  spare  you,  because 
I love  you  and  have  faith  in  you ! ” 

It  was  plain  that  the  dear  girl  had  prepared  this  little 
speech.  She  went  bravely  through  it  until  the  end, 
when  her  delivery  became  exceedingly  imperfect,  and 
for  an  instant  her  voice  disappeared,  like  the  head  of  a 
swimmer,  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  water ; but  she 
caught  at  the  final  clause,,  which  seemed  to  give  her 
fresh  strength,  and  so  made  a steadfast  close. 

Philip  took  her  hand  in  token  of  sympathy.  Kiss 


WHY  THE  YOUNG  MAN  WENT  WEST. 


51 


her,  as  he  wished,  he  could  not ; for  the  deck  was  by 
this  time  peopled  again  with  promenaders,  and  how 
should  they  know  she  was  his  sister?  But  he  drew 
closer  to  her,  and  murmured,  ''  So  this  is  what  you  have 
carried  on  your  mind ! My  darling  sister,  how  can  I 
take  advantage  of  your  self-sacrifice  ? Yet  I will  own 
that  the  same  thoughts  have  crossed  my  mind  before. 
Sometimes  it  seems  as  if,  by  breaking  away  for  a while 
and  coming  in  contact  with  a ruder  society,  I might  gain 
a healthy  reaction  from  this  morbid  condition.  I feel 
like  Hamlet,  without  the  tragic  horror  that  affected  his 
wits.  The  time  is  out  of  joint ; and  what  is  a young 
fellow,  just  out  of  college,  going  to  do  about  it  ? Cer- 
tainly, some  practical  experience  of  life  would  have  been 
a great  thing  for  Hamlet.  And  1 11  write  you  long  let- 
ters as  often  as  you  like ; and  won’t  it  be  pleasant  when 
I come  home  again  ? ” 

Evidently  his  trial  was  over  already.  Hers  had  just 
begun.  She  nestled  at  his  side,  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  spoke  no  more,  but  let  him  rattle  on,  like 
a child  in  anticipation  of  its  first  journey. 

Shall  I tell  you,  Alice  ? My  friend  Morton,  who  is 
proprietor  of  a daily  paper,  you  know,  sent  for  me  only 
the  other  day,  and  wanted  me  to  go  to  the  Pacific  coast 
and  write  him  a series  of  letters  for  publication.  He 
offers  very  good  terms,  — so  good  that,  if  I stay  a year, 
I shall  save  enough,  with  our  regular  income,  to  enable 
us  both  to  go  to  Europe  afterwards.  In  fact,  it  is  such  a 
capital  plan  that  I wonder  I did  not  propose  it  to  you 
myself.” 


52 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


I know  all  about  it/'  said  Alice,  faintly.  Mr.  Mor- 
ton told  me  himself,  and  gave  me  many  good  reasons  for 
your  accepting  it,  and  I promised  to  make  you." 

Then  Philip  saw  the  whole  extent  and  bearing  of  her 
unselfish  advice,  and  his  exultation  was  almost  quenched 
at  the  thought  of  her  suffering.  But  the  refusal  to  leave 
her  that  sprang  to  his  lips  was  checked  by  the  thought 
that  what  she  had  said  was  true  and  right  and  wdse.  It 
would,  indeed,  be  better  for  him  to  brace  himself  for  the 
work  of  life  by  breathing  for  a while  a keener  and  fresher 
air. 

So  they  sat  side  by  side  and  gazed  into  the  lingering 
glow  of  the  sunset,  now  so  deeply  associated  with  their 
thoughts  of  the  future,  since  one  of  them  was  to  jour- 
ney alone  towards  its  gate  of  gold.  Slowly  it  faded 
from  the  sky,  and  behind  them  rose,  untroubled  and 
serene,  the  silver  moon. 


TWO  LETTERS. 


53 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

TWO  LETTERS. 

The  statistics  of  the  Post-Office  demonstrate  that  a 
huge  portion  of  that  interchange  of  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, commands,  desires,  inquiries,  and  advices,  which 
constitutes  a civilized  life,  is  carried  on  by  means  of 
letters.  Strike  out  the  Post-Office,  and  what  is  life  ? 
Steam  enables  people  to  leave  one  another;  electricity 
helps  them  to  frighten  one  another  with  sudden  tidings ; 
it  is  in  letters  that  they  console,  consult,  converse 
with  one  another.  How  can  the  story-teller,  aiming  to 
give  a true  picture  of  times  and  manners,  leave  out 
letters  ? 

Here  are  Philip  and  Alice  Eussell  parted  by  fate,  — he 
to  enter  on  a new  and  active  career ; she  to  wait  and 
watch,  and  possibly  to  weep,  for  him  in  womanly  and 
sisterly  fashion,  but  each  to  remain  most  dear  and  pow- 
erful in  the  other’s  soul.  It  would  be  foolish  and  false 
to  depict  his  stirring  adventures  without  tracing  through 
them  the  silver  cord  of  her  influence,  or  to  set  forth  her 
quiet  life  as  a cloistered  seclusion,  severed  from  his  busy 
one.  Hence,  I must  insert  somewhat  of  their  corre- 
spondence. But  I spare  my  reader  the  letters  which 
Philip  wrote  for  his  friend  Morton’s  daily  newspaper. 
The  humorous  description  of  sea-sickness ; the  gorgeous 


54 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


account  of  the  tropic  splendors  of  the  Isthmus;  the 
complimentary  notice  of  the  captain  and  the  ship  of  the 
Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company;  the  rapture  about 
the  Golden  Gate ; the  glow  of  statistical  fervor  over  the 
population  and  prospects  of  San  Francisco;  the  dilate 
description  of  the  wondrous  climate,  the  enormous  fruits, 
the  golden  treasure  (both  in  grain  and  in  alluvium  and 
quartz),  possessed  or  produced  by  California,  — all  these 
attracted  comment  in  their  time;  and  Philip  made  a 
book  of  them  subsequently,  which  was  a very  readable 
book,  in  spite  of  its  alternate  gushing  eulogy  and  satire 
slightly  overdone.  I shall  not  quote  those  letters ; but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  Alice  read  them  with  in- 
tense interest,  regarding  them  as  really  addressed  to  her- 
self. This  was,  indeed,  what  Philip  had  said  of  them,  in 
excusing  himself  for  replying  with  such  brief  private 
notes  to  her  full  and  free  epistles.  She  wrote  untiringly; 
and  he  could  not  but  reply  under  the  disadvantage  of 
fatigue.  Either  he  was  physically  exhausted  with  travel, 
or  he  was  tired  of  the  topics  which  he  had  just  been 
elaborately  treating  for  the  public.  But  Alice  under- 
stood him  thoroughly;  and  their  correspondence  went 
on,  as  many  of  their  conversations  used  to  do,  with  long 
speeches  on  one  side,  short  ones  on  the  other,  and  per- 
fect sympathy  on  both. 

Here  is  the  letter  he  received  by  the  first  steamer  after 
his  arrival  in  San  Francisco : — 

Baypoet,  September,  18 6-. 

My  dear  Philip  : — The  note  you  sent  back  from  Sandy 
Hook,  and  the  one  you  mailed  from  Aspinwall,  (I  wish  they 


TWO  LETTERS. 


55 


would  call  it  Colon,  as  the  Spaniards  do  ; of  course,  Mr. 
Aspinwall  deserves  to  have  that,  or  any  other  place,  named 
after  him ; hut  when  I think  of  brave  old  Christopher 
coming  out  of  the  East  with  his  quaint  and  clumsy  caravels 
to  stumble  on  the  shores  of  a new  world  while  seeking  a 
new  way  to  the  old,  I feel  that  his  name  should  remain  on 
the  place  which  has  really  become,  at  last,  the  gate  to  Cipango 
and  Cathay.  [N’ow  wait,  while  I unravel  this  sentence,  and 
get  ready  a verb  that  will  agree  in  number  and  person  with 
my  subject,  and  in  mood  and  tense  with  my  object !)  gave  me 
much  pleasure.  You  need  n’t  apologize  for  short  letters ; I 
would  rather  have  them  from  you  than  long  ones.  Think 
that  over,  dear  boy  ! It  has  a great  many  meanings ; and  one 
of  them  is  this,  that  I can  read  your  sketches  of  travel  better 
in  print  than  in  your  very  literary  handwriting.  The  typo- 
graphical errors,  of  which  there  are  not  many,  are  as  good  as 
conundrums.  I fancy  I should  like  to  learn  type-setting,  not 
in  order  to  set  type,  but  merely  to  understand  better  the 
mistakes  of  the  people  who  do.  These  substitutions  and 
upside-downs  and  queer  transpositions,  so  different  from 
mistakes  of  the  pen  or  the  tongue,  must  have  their  reasons  in 
the  peculiar  operations,  of  which  I confess  my  notions  are 
very  dim,  but  which  printers  must  perform  thousands  of  times 
before  ever  I get  a newspaper. 

Your  description  of  Colon  was  splendid.  Mr.  Morton  sent 
it  over  to  me,  marked,  and  I wrote  him  a note  on  my  best 
perfumed  paper,  with  the  anchor  crest,  to  thank  him.  I think 
I can  see  the  lazy,  one-story  town  galvanized  into  activity  by 
the  arrival  of  the  steamer  ; the  shining  black  stevedores ; the 
stately,  shabby  orange  and  banana  women,  trailing  their  long 
skirts  in  the  street ; the  little  Columbian  soldiers,  staggering 
pompously  under  arms  : but  here  I am,  describing  it  all  over 


56 


BKAVE  HEAETS. 


again  to  yon  ! Yon  wonld  say,  carrying  coals  to  Colon ; bnt 
I scorn  snch  college  jokes  ! Confess,  dear  boy,  that  was  very 
like  one  of  yonr  worst. 

That  trip  across  the  Isthmns  nmst  be  like  a dream  of  the 
tropics ; it  is  so  short  and  swift,  with  an  ocean  jonrney  at 
either  end.  Perhaps  yon  do  not  know  that  the  few  lines  yon 
added  abont  that  and  abont  Panama  were  in  time  for  the 
steamer,  and  so  got  pnblished  with  the  rest.  What  a won- 
derful old  town  Panama  mnst  be  ; how  different  from  any- 
thing we  have  in  America  ! Of  course,  I mean  the  United 
States  when  I say  America ; it  is  very  funny  to  think  of  those 
foreigners  down  there  calling  themselves  Americans  too. 

I suppose  it  is  a foolish  criticism ; bnt  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  yon  represented  all  the  poor  and  ignorant  people  very  accu- 
rately, so  far  as  outward  appearance  goes,  bnt  without  any  refer- 
ence to  their  souls,  that  is  to  say,  their  real  selves.  Does  it 
not  trouble  you  — I am  sure  it  does  trouble  me  — to  reflect 
that  they  have  cares  and  responsibilities  and  fears  and  sins, 
and  to  wonder  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all,  — as  you  said, 
you  remember,  that  sweet,  sad,  sacred  sunset  night  ? I con- 
fess, your  philosophical  difficulties  do  not  touch  me ; but  I do 
shudder  when  I think  of  the  world  that  lieth  in  wicked- 
ness.’^ It  does  not  make  me  doubt  the  love  of  God,  for  that 
I surely  know ; but  it  makes  me  marvel  at  the  hiding  of  his 
power.”  I know  that  you  could  not  write  such  thoughts  as 
these  in  your  newspaper  letter,  but  did  you  not  feel  them  1 
Were  the  natives  of  the  Isthmus  and  the  priests  of  Pana- 
ma merely  picturesque  to  your  eyes,  or  were  they  also  pathetic 
to  your  sympathetic  heart  ] 

But  you  will  want  to  learn  something  about  my  occupa- 
tions and  welfare.  There  is  little  to  tell ; you  know  the  pro- 
gramme so  well.  Old  Mrs.  Yane  chaperons  me  about,  when 


TWO  LETTEKS. 


57 


I need  any  guardianship.  Her  son  Francis  has  just  returned 
from  Paris,  and  Isabella  has  made  a brilliant  dehut  this  sea- 
son ; though,  properly  speaking,  the  informal  way  in  which 
one  slides  into  society  at  a watering-place  is  not  a dehut, 
Isabella  will  make  a success ; they  aU  say  so.  It  is  wonder- 
ful how  she  holds  her  own  in  conversation  with  everybody. 
Even  the  learned  doctors  and  professors  are  bewitched  by  her 
pretty  vivacity.  The  other  day,  she  was  over  at  our  cottage, 
and  spent  the  afternoon  with  me.  Francis  Yane  and  Mr. 
Morton  (who  is  here,  taking  his  editorial  vacation  of  two 
weeks)  came  in  to  tea.  Hohody  else,  — except  Aunt  Marga- 
ret, who  listens  to  modern  conversation,  you  know,  with  a 
puzzled  look,  as  if  we  were  all  talking  Chinese,  and  then 
comes  out  suddenly  with  something  that  is  quaint  and  odd, 
and  goes  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  after  aU. 

I wish  Aunt  Margaret  had  always  lived  with  us  ; it  would 
have  done  her  good,  and  us  too.  She  is  so  placid  and  quiet 
in  her  way  of  looking  at  all  these  questions  that  seem  to  me 
new  and  strange.  It  seems  just  as  if  she  had  heard  it  all 
before,  somehow,  or  at  least  recognized  old  friends  and  foes 
under  the  new  disguises.  You  know,  when  father  went  off  to 
sea,  she  stayed  with  grandfather  alone  at  that  quiet  country 
parsonage  of  Southfield ; and  he  lived  to  be  so  old  that,  when 
he  died,  she  was  old  herself.  It  was  quite  hard  for  her  to 
come  here  and  abide  with  me,  giving  up  her  lonesome  life. 
But  I had  the  west  bedroom  fitted  up  with  her  own  furniture, 
and  all  grandfather’s  books  put  on  shelves  along  one  wall ; 
and  she  feels  quite  at  home  there.  She  must  have  been  a 
wonderfully  learned  woman  in  her  day.  Distinguished  people 
used  to  correspond  with  her,  and  there  was  nothing  she  did 
not  read,  up  to  a certain  time.  But  newspapers  and  modern 
books  she  has  never  got  used  to.  Old  friends  for  me,”  she 
3* 


58 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


says,  smilingly,  and  reads  over  again  the  theology  and  phi- 
losophy and  history  and  romance  of  a generation  ago.  But  I 
must  write  you  more  another  time  about  Aunt  Margaret. 

. What  I meant  to  tell  was  about  our  tea-party. 

Francis  Yane,  you  know,  has  been  staying  in  Europe  for 
some  mysterious  purpose,  — to  perfect  his  mind  and  manners, 
I presume,  and  prepare  him  to  be  a broker  in  Wall  Street, 
which  is  what  he  has  determined  to  become.  He  is  certainly 
polite  and  pleasant,  but  not  earnest.  I mean,  you  cannot 
make  out  from  what  he  says  that  he  has  sincere  belief  or  in- 
terest in  anything,  ^^'ow  you,  dear  boy,  have  your  way  of 
teasing  and  mocking  people.  In  fact,  it  is  the  way  almost 
all  men  talk  nowadays,  at  least  to  women ; and  Aunt  Mar- 
garet says,  Bless  you,  child,  it  ^s  nothing  new.”  But  then 
I know  you  have  something  deeper,  and  I can  see  through 
your  surface-talk.  Perhaps  I could  do  the  same  by  Mr. 
Vane,  if  I cared  enough  for  him  to  try.  As  this  is  not  the 
case,  he  sometimes  irritates  me. 

Well,  there  he  was ; and  Isabella,  with  her  gushing  sen- 
timent and  gushing  humor  and  gushing  sympathy  ; and  Mr. 
Morton,  as  good-natured  and  cool  and  outspoken  as  usual. 
So  you  see  we  made  quite  a varied  party.  Francis  told  us  a 
number  of  amusing  stories  about  his  travels,  and  one  in  par- 
ticular, an  adventure  that  happened  to  him  in  trying  to 
cross  from  Mantua  to  Florence,  while  Garibaldi's  army  lay 
between.  They  stopped  him  as  a suspicious  character,  and 
sent  him  under  guard  to  Bologna,  where  he  was  detained 
several  days,  though  not  at  all  confined.  But,  because  he 
• was  an  American,  some  Eed  Eepublicans  rescued  him  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  going  to  the  police-office  and  getting  his 
passport,  which  the  authorities  did  not  like  to  refuse.  So  the 
next  morning  he  went  off  comfortably  enough  in  the  dili- 


TWO  LETTERS. 


59 


gence.  There  was  very  little  in  the  story,  hut  his  lazy  indif- 
ferent way  of  telling  it  kept  us  on  the  qui  vive.  You  never 
know  what  to  expect  from  these  tantalizing  nonchalant  people. 
At  any  moment,  they  may  out  with  a thrilling  incident. 

What  a commonplace  end  ! ''  exclaimed  Isabella.  You 
. never  have  any  real  adventures.  Trank  ; you  are  always  get- 
ting into  the  beginning  of  a scrape,  and  then  getting  out  in 
the  most  ordinary  ways  by  the  railroad  or  the  diligence  ! 

Like  the  Dutchman,”  said  I,  who,  when  he  saw  that 
the  ship  was  about  to  sink,  took  his  hat  and  stepped  ashore ; 
though,  on  second  thought,  that  was  certainly  not  com- 
monplace.” 

‘‘  Taking  the  cars  or  the  stage,”  remarked  Mr.  Morton,  is 
as  truly  romantic  as  mounting  a red  roan  steed  and  escaping 
at  a gaUop.  The  times  and  manners  have  changed ; but  — 
pardon  the  originality  of  the  observation  — the  human  feel- 
ings are  the  same.  Your  brother.  Miss  Alice,  will  find 
romance  enough  in  the  free  life  of  the  West.  And  as  for 
Frank’s  Itahan  adventure,  I dare  say  if  he  had  embellished 
it  as  he  might  have  done,  and  as  many  a traveler  would  have 
done,  he  could  have  made  it  thrilling  enough  to  suit  Miss 
Isabella.” 

The  allusion  to  you,  dear  boy,  brought  tears  into  my  eyes, 
and  reminded  me,  moreover,  that  you  had  left  a box  of 
cigars  in  the  sideboard.  So  I told  the  gentlemen,  if  they  would 
adjourn  to  the  piazza,  we  would  keep  them  company.  It  was 
a little  chilly,  and  Aunt  Margaret  stayed  in-doors  ; but  Isabella 
and  I put  on  our  shawls,  and  the  gentlemen  their  hats  ; and 
the  beautiful  aspect  of  the  harbor  and  the  island,  under  a fuU* 
moon,  made  us  loath  to  go  indoors.  Francis  did  not  talk 
much  for  a while ; he  had  had  his  innings,  he  said,  at  the 
table ; and  so  the  other  three  of  us  had  the  talk  to  ourselves. 


60 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


Mr.  Morton/’  said  Isabella,  what  do  you  suppose  is  the 
reason  of  the  habit  of  travelers  to  exaggerate  their  stories  1 ” 
The  same,  I fancy,”  replied  Mr.  Morton,  as  that  which 
makes  clergymen  so  dogmatic  in  the  pulpit.  They  are  not 
liable  to  be  interrupted  or  gainsaid  by  their  listeners.  More- 
over, the  listeners  themselves,  in  both  cases,  are  partly  to 
blame.  We  enjoy  both  sermons  and  travels  in  proportion  to 
the  ‘ strong  situations  ’ they  involve,  whether  of  doctrine  or 
adventure.  When  the  Eeverend  Doctor  guides  us  along  the 
dizzy  verge  of  Eesponsibility,  the  precipices  of  Date  and  Will 
being  on  either  side,  or  brings  us  face  to  face  with  scientific 
Infidelity,  which  he  destroys  triumphantly  at  a blow,  we  feel 
a calm  satisfaction,  not  found  in  humbler  expositions  of  mere 
duty,  or  plain  meditations  of  sin  and  repentance.  Why  did 
the  Eeverend  Doctor  spend  so  much  time  and  money  in  a 
theological  education,  if  not  to  have  thoughts  and  words  out 
of  the  common  line  1 And  so  we  feel  about  travelers.  We 
rate  them,  often,  according  to  the  wonders  they  have  seen. 
If  a man  is  to  circumnavigate  the  world  only  to  find  that  it 
is  full  of  ordinary  people,  trying  to  earn  a living,  with  occa- 
sional thieves  and  savages  trying  to  steal  one,  what  is  the 
use,  we  think,  of  all  his  troubled  He  must  bring  home 
strange  curiosities  and  marvellous  stories,  or  he  is  a mere  bag- 
man,  and  we  will  none  of  him.  But  of  course  we  are  angry 
when  his  big  stories  are  disproved.  We  are  like  children, 
eager  to  hear  of  giants  and  monsters  ; but  we  are  not  half  so 
willing  as  children  to  enjoy  the  wonderful,  without  demand- 
ing that  it  shall  be  indorsed  as  literal.  They  are  willing  to 
be  amused  ; we  want  to  be  deceived.” 

‘‘  Don’t  critics  sometimes  exaggerate '?  ” said  I,  pointedly. 

Mr.  Morton  paused  a moment,  and  then  replied  frankly, 
‘‘Yes;  always,  I am  afraid.  We  put  a magnifying-glass 


TWO  LETTERS. 


61 


over  the  subjects  we  examine,  to  see  them  more  clearly ; or, 
perhaps,  we  also  exaggerate  to  suit  the  public  taste.  For  we 
bring  our  wares  to  market,  you  know,  like  other  manufac- 
turers ; and  we  must  do  something  to  gain  the  attention  of 
the  public,  or  all  our  labor  will  be  wasted.  But  I confess 
that  I was  carried  away  by  the  critic’s  most  dangerous  tempta- 
tion, the  desire  to  be  epigrammatical ; and,  as  some  one  has 
remarked,  injustice  is  the  essence  of  an  epigram.” 

Well,”  said  Isabella,  I suppose  your  theories  are  all  very 
fine ; but  I like  to  hear  new  things,  and  old  things  in  new 
ways,  and  I don’t  believe  it  is  necessary  to  be  commonplace 
in  order  to  be  true.  I am  sure,  Mr.  Morton,  you  said  as 
much  yourself,  when  you  told  Alice  that  her  brother  would 
find  romance  enough  in  the  West.  But  it  is  a privilege  of 
critics  to  contradict  themselves ; I think  a critic  is  a person 
who  is  on  both  sides  at  once.” 

Miss  Yane,”  said  Mr.  Morton  with  a bow,  that  is  an 
epigram.” 

But  I have  run  on  so  long, ' that  I cannot  find  room  or 
time  for  more  of  the  conversation.  Isabella  and  Mr.  Morton 
kept  it  up,  after  that,  in  a very  lively  manner,  getting  less 
and  less  sincere,  I thought,  as  they  went  on.  In  fact,  it  was 
a pretty  sort  of  game  at  talk,  and  I got  very  tired  of  it,  so 
that  I was  even  willing  to  accept  Mr.  Frank  Yane’s  company, 
and  walk  down  to  the  Belvidere  ” at  the  foot  of  our  lawn, 
and  look  at  the  moonlight  on  the  harbor  and  the  Sound.  I 
had  reason  to  be  sorry  for  this  step,  when  I discovered  that 
Mr.  Yane  considered  it  ^^the  correct  thing”  to  be  sentimental 
in  the  moonlight.  I endured  it  as  long  as  I could,  for  polite- 
ness’ sake,  and  then  I told  him  frankly  that  I thought 
he  had  mistaken  my  capacity  to  appreciate  his  compliments. 
He  pulled  his  mustache  at  that,  and  ejaculated,  ‘‘  By  Jove  ! 


62 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


now  that  another  epigram,  Miss  Alice.  Very  neatly  put, 
that  was.  Awfully  severe,  though.  You  must  n’t  he  so 
severe  on  me,  now,  really.” 

^‘Well,  I won’t,”  said  I,  changing  tactics  suddenly,  ^‘for 
I want  your  opinion  on  a matter  of  business.” 

And  with  that  I asked  him  what  he  thought  of  those  rail- 
road bonds,  you  know,  and  whether  we  had  better  sell  now, 
and  get  into  something  more  solid  and  certain,  or  hold  on  for 
a better  opportunity.  I was  surprised  to  see  what  a change 
came  over  him.  He  has  n’t  really  gone  into  the  stock-broker’s 
business  himself ; but  he  was  a clerk  for  a while  in  his  father’s 
office,  and  he  has  plenty  of  friends  among  the  members  of  the 
craft.  When  he  began  to  talk  of  business,  he  dropped  his 
indolent  airs  and  his  affected  sentiment,  and  I really  felt 
awe-struck  by  the  clear  and  rapid  way  in  which  he  handled 
the  case.  He  had  recently  heard  that  very  road  discussed  by 
the  knowing  ones ; and  he  was  able  to  tell  me  why  the  bonds 
were  now  being  quietly  bought  up,  and  by  whom.  It  is 
part  of  some  great  scheme  for  through  lines,  which  I will  not 
stop  to  explain.  When  I spoke  afterwards  to  Mr.  Morton 
about  it,  he  looked  very  much  interested,  and  said  he  had 
suspected  as  much,  and  had  half  determined,  as  our  agent,  to 
keep  the  bonds  awhile,  though  they  have  been  so  long  un- 
profitable. But  I don’t  mean  to  fill  my  letter  with  business. 
Mr.  Morton  may  keep  you  posted  on  that  matter,  if  he 
chooses.  All  I wanted  to  do  was  to  note  that  Mr.  Yane 
grew  positively  enthusiastic  on  the  subject,  rising  at  last  to 
this  height : When  you  ’re  interested  in  a railroad  that 

runs  east  and  west,  hold  on ; some  feUow  will  want  it  some 
day,  as  a connection.  But  the  north  and  south  roads  are 
nothing  but  feeders,  — except,  of  course,  the  big  ones.” 

Well,  Mr.  Vane,”  I said,  you  have  certainly  come  pretty 


TWO  LETTEKS. 


63 


near  an  epigram  this  time.  I am  really  mugh  indebted  to 
you  for  your  clear  advice,  which  has  made  many  points  plain 
to  me ; and  I think  we  shall  get  along  famously  together,  if 
we  confine  ourselves  to  matters  on  which  we  are  both  in 
earnest.” 

He  did  not  attempt  any  reply,  but  sauntered  at  my  side, 
in  a sullen  sort  of  meditation,  back  to  the  house.  Isabella 
and  Mr.  Morton  rose  as  we  approached,  and  we  all  went  into 
the  house  together,  and  had  some  music. 

Dear  boy,  we  missed  your  flute  and  your  tenor,  and  one  of 
us  missed  you^  with  all  her  heart. 

Alice. 

It  took  Philip  a good  while  to  read  this  letter,  although 
it  was  not  written  with  that  graceful  illegibility  which 
young  ladies  are  apt  to  affect,  nor  was  it  hair-lined  and 
shaded  in  the  abominable  Italian  manner,  nor  criss- 
crossed like  a palimpsest,  after  the  fashion  which  our 
grandmothers  adopted  when  postage  was  high.  Alice 
Eussell  wrote  what  I call  a truly  lady-hke  hand ; that 
is,  she  took  as  much  care  to  save  her  correspondents 
from  unnecessary  trouble  in  making  out  her  meaning, 
as  she  would  have  taken  to  speak  distinctly  if  they  had 
been  present.  When  will  people  learn  that  mumbling 
and  shouting  and  incoherence  in  pen-and-ink  are  not 
polite  ? 

Philip’s  reply  to  this  letter  was  dated  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, before  he  went  up  into  the  mountains.  Here 
it  is : — 

• San  Francisco,  October,  186-. 

Dear  Alice  : — It  is  almost  worth  while  to  be  separated 
from  you,  for  the  sake  of  getting  such  letters  as  the  one  I 


64 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


received  yesterday.  It  was  like  one  of  our  rare,  long  talks, 
with  this  drawback,  that  I got  no  chance  to  put  in  my  oar, 
and  this  great  advantage,  that  I can  repeat  the  enjoyment  of 
it  whenever  I choose,  by  pulling  out  the  letter  and  reading 
it  again;  whereas,  the  best  talk  does  evaporate,  unless  we 
catch  it  in  the  ink-bottle. 

I wish  I could  pour  out  my  soul  to  you  in  reply.  But  in 
the  first  place,  the  work  of  writing  for  the  press  exhausts  me 
somewhat,  in  the  line  of  mere  description ; and,  in  the  second 
place,  I am  too  much  bewildered  by  crowding  facts  and  re- 
flections to  wish  to  ventilate  at  present,  even  to  you,  my 
deeper  feelings.  Sometimes  I feel  that,  in  this  land  of  action 
and  enterprise,  I shall  find  a key  to  the  mysteries  of  life  and 
thought.  It  is  more  likely  that  I shall  get  interested  in  so 
many  ways  as  to  forget  or  lay  aside  the  reflections  that  used 
to  trouble  me.  But  while  I have  you  in  my  heart,  I shall 
not  lose  the  consciousness  of  a higher  life  than  that  of 
material  endeavor  and  achievement.  Don’t  let  go  of  me, 
Alice ; I would  rather  not  try  to  stand  alone. 

Eemember  me  to  the  Yanes.  Isabella  is  charming,  — don’t 
I know  that  1 She  was  the  toast  of  the  Sophomores  before 
she  got  out  of  curls  and  short  dresses.  You  judge  Frank,  in 
part,  too  severely ; what  you  say  about  understanding  him 
better  if  you  liked  him  better  might  be  turned  about,  and 
presented  to  you,  horse  foremost,  with  some  justice.  As  for 
his  compliments  to  you,  he  can’t  go  too  far  for  truth,  because 
he  can’t  half  appreciate  you ; so  I am  inclined  to  accept  his 
inadequate  efforts  as  sincere. 

I wish  you  could  get  better  acquainted  with  Alf.  Morton. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  fellows  alive ; and  if  you  knew  him  £ts 
I do,  you  would  n’t  call  him  merely  good-natured,  cool,  and 
outspoken.”  But  there  is  no  use  in  beginning  that  theme 


TWO  LETTEES. 


65 


again.  I have  said  all  I could  about  it  over  and  over  again. 
It  is  a pity  he  is  our  financial  agent  and  my  employer;  I 
suppose  you  two  talk  so  much  business  together  that  you 
have  enough  of  each  other  without  touching  on  friendship. 
Why  did  n’t  you  have  more  to  say  in  the  conversation  you 
reported  so  well  in  your  letter?  You  can  talk  better  than 
Isabella  Yane.  If  you  once  get  started  on  one  of  your 
enthusiastic  outbursts,  you  ’ll  carry  Morton  along  with  you, 
and  no  mistake.  Take  him  on  the  late  war,  now ; that  topic 
would  just  suit  both  of  you.  My  brief  experience  of  it,  you 
know,  bringing  me  neither  gore  nor  glory,  and  being  igno- 
miniously  shortened,  at  the  first  end  by  the  circumstance  that 
I was  too  young  to  go  in  earlier,  and  at  the  latter  end  by  the 
termination  of  the  war  itself,  did  not  leave  me  with  much 
stuff  either  for  enthusiasm  or  for  eloquent  reminiscence.  But 
Morton  has  a large  fund,  if  you  only  draw  on  it.  Of  course, 
you  can’t  get  him  to  tell  of  his  own  performances  at  Fred- 
ericksburg or  Cold  Harbor ; you  would  n’t  know  from  his 
ordinary  manner  that  he  had  ever  commanded  a regiment  in 
such  awful  battles  as  those  two ; but  if  you  stir  up  the  sub- 
ject, you  will  see  in  his  eye  that  he  was  there ; and  once  in 
my  life  I got  him  to  talk  about  it,  — really  hold  forth,  you 
know ; take  the  floor  all  to  himself  for  an  hour.  It  was  the 
grandest  — Well,  I won’t  make  a fool  of  myself  by  trying  to 
write  Morton  up  into  your  good  graces.  If  you  don’t  like 
him,  you  don’t ; and  if  I don’t  like  your  not  liking  him,  I 
can’t  help  myself. 

For  my  impressions  of  San  Francisco,  see  the  letter  I send 
to-day  to  the  paper.  It  is  indeed  a wonderful  city ; but  its 
precocity  may  fade  out,  as  that  sort  of  thing  so  often  does  in 
children,  after  a few  years.  Of  course,  there  is  some  limit  to 
the  kind  of  progress  known  as  ^^rise  in  real  estate”;  and 


E 


66 


BKAVE  HEAKTS. 


then  the  character  of  the  city’s  prosperity  will  depend  on  its 
moral  and  intellectual  condition,  which  might  be  called  more 
truly  its  real  estate.” 

I am  chiefly  sorry  to  leave  so  soon  the  Bay  and  the  Golden 
Gate.  When  we  arrived,  it  was  fortunately  late  in  a glorious, 
cloudless  afternoon ; and  as  our  stately  steamer  passed  the 
Seal  Eock  and  Lime  Point,  and  swept  around  towards  Yerba 
Buena  and  the  city  wharves,  the  whole  sea,  to  the  far 
horizon,  glowed  like  molten  gold.  The  narrow  entrance  to 
the  harbor  was  sharply  defined  by  the  bold  shores,  dark 
against  the  sunset.  As  we  looked  back  upon  them,  I could 
not  realize  that  you  were  thousands  of  miles  away.  Sunset 
always  makes  me  think  of  you.  So  do  the  stars.  So,  in 
fact,  do  most  things. 

I shall  start  for  a tour  in  the  gold-mining  districts  to-mor- 
row. A fellow  by  the  name  of  Johnson  is  stopping  at  the 
Occidental,  where  I am,  and  says  he  has  some  business  at  a 
place  called  Goldopolis,  and  will  put  me  up  ” to  the  ways 
of  the  country,  if  I will  go  with  him.  I don’t  know  his 
business ; but  he  is  a pleasant  companion,  and  respectable ; 
and  as  I have  no  particular  destination,  I think  I shall  accept 
his  offer. 

You  might  as  well  remember  me  to  Isabella,  and  by  all 
means  to  Aunt  Margaret.  I have  seen  her  a few  times  in 
my  life,  at  the  old  place  in  Southfield ; after  what  you  say 
of  her,  I wish  to  know  her  better.  These  restful  people  are 
true  blessings  to  mankind.  You  will  be  one  of  them,  my 
child,  — when  you  are  old  enough. 

Ever  fondly  thine  own, 


Philip. 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


67 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

SOL  redwood’s  ice. 

After  the  brief  conversation  with  the  terse  and 
hungry  driver  of  the  up-coach,  related  in  a former  chap- 
ter, Stephen  Moore  returned  to  the  big  sitting-room  pre- 
pared to  make  himself  comfortable  until  it  was  time  to 
start  on  his  return  trip.  Hank  Howe  and  his  confed- 
erate in  the  poker  game  were  standing  on  the  porch, 
where  the  moonlight  clearly  showed  them  engaged  in 
deep  conversation.  This  circumstance  was  not  unnoted 
by  Stephen,  who,  making  some  remark  about  a possible 
change  of  weather,  stepped  to  the  door,  already  partly 
open,  and  suddenly  threw  it  wide  open,  as  if  to  get  a 
good  view  of  the  sky.  His  manoeuvre  accomplished 
more  than  he  had  any  reason  to  hope ; for,  although  the 
two  men  instantly  dropped  their  voices,  his  quick  ear 
overheard  the  fellow  in  the  slouched  hat  addressing  his 
companion,  not  as  Hank,  but  as  Jim.  This  circumstance 
was  made  more  suspicious  by  the  evident  irritation  of 
the  latter  at  being  thus  named.  Although  no  word  of 
their  talk  could  be  caught,  it  was  plain  from  the  dumb 
show  of  their  looks  and  gestures  that  Mr.  Harrison 
Howe  was  giving  his  friend  a piece  of  his  mind,  doubt- 
less accusing  him  of  criminal  carelessness  in  the  way  he 
handled  proper  names.  Finally,  the  culprit  having  been 


68 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


reduced  by  the  power  of  sarcasm,  cool  self-possession, 
and  really  superior  knowledge,  to  a suitable  penitence, 
Mr.  Howe  appeared  to  give  him  some  message  or  direc- 
tions, w^hich  he  received  with  attention,  and  immediately 
walked  across  to  the  stable.  A few  moments  later,  the 
clatter  of  a horse’s  hoofs  was  heard  on  the  road,  and  Mr. 
Howe  entered  the  sitting-room  alone. 

Meanwhile  Stephen  had  returned  to  the  interior  of  the 
room,  where  he  was  assailed  with  cries  of,  ^^How  give  us 
that  story  about  Sol  Eedwood’s  ice.”  Most  of  the  peti- 
tioners had  heard  the  story,  and  wanted  it  again.*  But 
the  stage-driver  pointed  to  an  individual  who  had 
silently  entered  a moment  before.  ''That’s  Lije  Picker- 
ing’s story,”  said  he ; " nobody  but  Lije  can  tell  that  story 
when  he ’s  around.” 

The  person  referred  to  was  a shaggy  specimen  of  the 
pioneer.  He  had  been  a miner  in  all  the  districts  on  the 
coast,  and  would  probably  catch  the  excitement  again 
some  day,  and  try  the  fortunes  of  the  pick  again.  Just 
now  he  lived  in  the  half-way  cabin  on  the  Grade,  and  had 
charge  of  the  repairs  and  the  taking  of  tolls.  It  was  his 
practice  to  drop  in  at  the  station  of  an  evening,  sit  an 
hour,  and  then  ride  back  to  his  lonely  home. 

He  accepted  the  implied  invitation  to  entertain  the 
company  by  the  somewhat  indirect  reply,  " Any  o’  you 
fellows  got  a piece  o’  tobacker  ? ” But  before  he  fairly 

* Do  people  like  old  jokes  and  anecdotes  because  of  their  antiquity, 
or  in  spite  of  it  ? Strictly  speaking,  there  is  nothing  new  in  that  line  ; 
wherefore  that  which  seems  new  is  likely  to  be  stuff  deservedly  forgot- 
ten of  mankind,  and  no  masterpiece. 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


69 


began,  he  waited  until  the  stragglers  had  gathered,  in- 
cluding Harrison  Howe,  Mr.  Johnson,  Philip  Eussell, 
Bronco  Bill,  and  Kate  Campbell.  Probably  he  felt,  as  do 
all  public  speakers,  a dislike  to  see  people  come  stringing 
in,  after  the  performance  has  begun ; which  is  only  less 
disagreeable  than  to  see  them  go  stringing  out  before  it 
is  over. 

The  interval  of  waiting  was  filled  with  lively  general 
conversation,  eliciting  from  one  and  another  brief  remi- 
niscences of  the  early  days  of  the  coast,  — I mean,  of 
course,  the  early  days  of  American  settlement;  for 
whatever  happened  in  California  before  the  raising  of 
the  Bear-flag  and  the  discovery  of  gold  is  to  be  reckoned 
as  prehistoric,  antediluvian,  and  as  insignificant,  except 
to  antiquarians,  as  the  fossil  skull  of  Calaveras  County. 
Practically  speaking,  the  Pacific  coast  was  created  in 
1849  for  the  ''  ’49-ers.”  What  little  had  previously  been 
done  by  geological  forces,  time,  the  Spaniards  and  the 
missionaries,  was  merely  in  the  way  of  preparation, 
analogous  to  the  manner  in  which  Eden  was  got  ready 
for  Adam  and  Eve. 

At  last  Mr.  Pickering,  taking  up  one  of  his  big-booted 
legs  into  his  lap,  and  absent-mindedly  nursing  his  knee, 
across  which  he  occasionally  sent  a neatly  directed  jet 
of  tobacco-juice  into  the  fire,  began  the  story  of  Sol  Eed- 
wood’s  ice. 

''Yes,”  said  he,  " of  all  the  queer  fellers  betwixt  Los  An- 
geles and  Yreky,  Sol  Eedwood  laid  over  the  lot.  Some  o’ 
you  boys  must  remember  him.  Used  ter  live  all  by  him- 
self over  back  of  Murphy’s  camp,  in  the  woods.  Had  a 


70 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


shebang  built  o’  logs  and  covered  with  bark,  and  thar  he 
lived,  nobody  could  find  out  how.  Never  had  no  company, 
though  he  was  sociable  enough,  too,  if  you  met  him 
away  from  home.  The  boys  called  him  Eedwood,  on 
account  o’  that  way  o’  livin’,  and  because  he  was  the  fust 
white  man  that  ever  laid  eyes  on  the  Big  Trees  o’  Cala- 
veras. These  yer  scientific  cusses  have  got  a name  as 
long  as  a tail-sluice  for  them  trees;  but  everybody 
knows  they  ’re  redwoods.  Sol  he  looked  a good  deal  like 
a redwood,  — ragged  around  the  trunk,  and  crooked  in  the 
arms,  and  bare  on  the  top.  His  hair  was  red,  an’  his  nose 
was  red,  an’  his  eyes  was  red,  an’  his  shirt  used  to  be  red, 
an’  he  never  wore  no  hat,  no  more  ’n  the  top  o’  Shasty. 

''Well,  thar  he  lived,  with  that  dawg  o’  his,  an’ 
his  mewl.  I judge  he  got  his  grub  by  hunting,  an’  paid 
for  his  other  fixin’s  with  the  skins.  But  they  do  say  he 
warn’t  such  a fool  as  the  boys  took  him  for,  an’  that  he 
was  the  fust  man  on  the  coast  that  understood  the 
valloo  o’  quartz.  Used  to  go  everywhere  on  that  mewl, 
with  his  rifle  an’  his  pick,  an’  every  time  he  come  to  a 
boulder  or  a piece  o’  float-quartz,  off  he ’d  git,  and  ham- 
mer away  on  it;  an’  that  mewl  would  stand  by,  ef  it  was 
half  an  hour,  till  he  had  knocked  off  his  specimen  and 
put  it  in  the  saddle-bag.  Then  he ’d  mount  agin,  an’  the 
mewl  never  waited  for  him  to  say  'git,’  but  got  right 
along.  An’  as  for  the  dawg,  he  got  to  be  the  best  jedge 
o’  quartz  on  the  coast. 

" I never  see  the  old  man  myself,  but  his  pardner  told 
me  a good  deal  about  him : I mean  Gastello,  him  they 
used  to  call  Spanish  George.  No  more  Spanish  than  you 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


71 


or  I be;  but  he  married  a Spanish  gal,  an’  took  her 
name,  instead  o’  givin’  her  his’n.” 

‘'No  harm  in  that,  — hey,  boys  ? ” interrupted  Stephen. 
“ Only,  if  a man  drops  one  name  because  it  don’t  suit 
him,  — say  it ’s  got  played  out  on  the  road,  — and  hitches 
to  another,  let  him  stick  to  that  as  long  as  he  can. 
That ’s  so  now ; ain’t  it,  Hank  ? ” 

“Well,  that’s  what  Gastello  did,”  continued  Lije,  un- 
mindful of  the  interruption ; “ an’  he  was  Sol  Eedwood’s 
pardner,  but  not  while  the  old  man  was  able  to  play  it 
alone  on  his  own  hand.  But  after  a while  the  old  man 
took  sick,  and  Gastello  was  prospectin’  around  thar,  an’ 
he  see  that  mewl  an’  the  dawg  lookin’  mighty  mourn- 
ful. So  he  jest  pushed  for  the  cabin,  the  dawg  leadin’ 
the  way ; an’  thar  he  found  Sol  Eedwood  so  bad  with 
the  rheumatiz  that  he  could  n’t  stir.  George  stayed  by 
him  an’  give  him  his  grub,  an’  sweated  him,  an’  rubbed 
him,  an’  give  him  whiskey,  an’  stewed  up  one  kind  o’ 
weed  after  another,  an’  give  him  that ; but  it  warn’t  no 
use.  In  about  two  weeks  the  old  man  died ; an’  Gastello, 
bein’  his  pardner,  got  the  cabin  an’  traps,  an’  the  dawg 
an’  the  mewl. 

“ He  said  he  found  about  three  ton  o’  specimens  around 
the  shebang.  A few  on  ’em  had  free  gold  in  ’em ; but  the 
biggest  part  was  these  yer  sulphurei^s,  no  ’count,  as 
George  said.  You  see,  George  warn’t  no  judge  o’  sulphur- 
ets;  so  he  flung  ’em  all  away.  Anyhow,  nobody  but 
Sol  Eedwood  knowed  where  them  specimens  come  from, 
an’  he  died  ’thout  tellin’.  Like  as  not  the  old  man  hed 
found  fust-class  mines  till  you  couldn’t  rest;  but  he 


72 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


never  let  on,  an’  he  never  made  no  sale.  What ’s  the 
use  o’  findin’  a mine,  if  you  can’t  make  a sale  ? 

''Well,  George  he  took  the  mewl  an’  the  dawg  down 
to  his  ranch  in  the  foot-hills ; but  they  warn’t  worth 
much  at  first  to  him.  The  dawg  would  n’t  watch  nor 
drive  sheep  nor  cattle ; nor  he  warn’t  on  the  hunt 
neither,  to  any  extent.  He  jest  run  round  all  day,  nosin’ 
about  every  rock  he  could  see.  At  first  they  thought  it 
was  badgers  or  gophers  he  was  a-scentin’ ; but  it  warn’t 
nothin’ o’ the  kind:  it  was  quartz.  As  for  the  mewl, 
you ’d  better  go  it  afoot  than  ride  her.  She ’d  stop  short 
at  every  stone  in  the  road,  an’  cussin’  an’  poundin’ 
would  n’t  start  her,  until  whoever  was  on  her  back  had 
got  down  an’  hammered  that  stone.  After  that  she ’d 
go  on  as  peaceable  as  anybody’s  mewl.  George  he  had 
to  ride  her  on  the  bottom-land,  an’  nowhar  else.  Any- 
whar  in  the  mountains,  she ’d  keep  him  a gittin’  on  and 
off  the  hull  day. 

"The  worst  of  it  was,  that  mewl  warn’t  no  jedge 
of  quartz.  She ’d  pay  jest  as  much  attention  to  an 
adobe  wall,  or  a chunk  o’  common  bed-rock,  as  she 
would  to  the  biggest  nugget  that  ever  rolled  in  a gulch. 
But  the  dawg,  he  was  a jedge.  One  smell  of  a piece  o’ 
barren  stuff  was  enough  for  him ; he ’d  trot  off,  as  dis- 
gusted as  any  human  bein’.  An’  ef  he  stayed  around, 
pawin’  an’  whinin’  at  a boulder,  you  could  bet  yer  life 
that  boulder  would  assay.  It  might  not  pan  out  rich, 
but  it  would  pan  a color,  sure.  One  day  the  dawg  made 
sech  a fuss  over  a ledge  of  rocks  about  twenty  rod  from 
the  road,  that  Gastello  jest  made  up  his  mind  to  go  over 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


73 


thar  and  take  a look  at  it  for  himself ; an’,  gentlemen, 
the  gold  was  stickin’  out  o’  that  quartz  like  the  pints  on 
a prickly- pear ; an’  Gastello  sold  that  mine  for  a hundred 
thousand  dollars.” 

''  Took  it  mostly  in  stock,”  said  Harrison  Howe,  sneer- 
ingly ; and  the  company  burst  in  six  months,  and  the 
stock  was  n’t  worth  a prickly-pear.” 

^Well,”  interposed  Steve,  ''I  don’t  see  as  the  dog  was 
to  blame  for  that.  The  company  sent  up  a fellow  to  be 
superintendent  that  did  n’t  know  as  much  as  the  dog.” 
Lije  Pickering  nodded  assent.  ''He  was  a weed- 
sharp,”  said  he,  " an’  a bug-sharp,  an’  a shell-sharp,  an’  a 
rock-sharp,  but  he  warn’t  no  quartz-sharp.”^  So,  after 
he  had  fooled  away  most  of  the  money,  they  sent  up 
another  fellow,  an’  he  was  too  almighty  smart.  He  got 
out  gold  enough ; but  when  he  was  ready  to  pay  a divi- 
dend, he  paid  it  to  himself,  instead  of  the  company.  In 
fact,  he  vamosed  the  ranch  with  pretty  near  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  an’  they  never  could  catch  him.” 

" I remember  Am,”  said  Stephen.  " His  name  was 
Jim  Barlow,  — at  least,  that  was  what  he  called  himself 
then ; but  they  say  the  Vigilance  Committee  over  at 
Sonora  had  a better  title  to  him.  After  all,  you  know, 
the  first  title  is  the  one  that  sticks  in  the  long  run.” 
Steve  had  made  a random  shot,  but  it  went  home  to 
the  white  centre  in  the  consciousness  of  Harrison  Howe ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  gambler’s  self-control,  the  keen,  quick 
glance  of  his  adversary  observed  the  effect  it  had  pro- 

* Anglichy  a botanist,  entomologist,  palaeontologist,  and  geologist, 
but  not  a practical  mineralogist  and  mining  engineer. 

4 


74 


BHAVE  HEARTS. 


duced.  The  two  men  exchanged  an  instantaneous  look 
of  cordial  hostility,  and  the  stage-driver  chuckled  in- 
wardly, I Ve  got  a holt  on  him  now.”  Two  other 
persons  perceived,  more  or  less  clearly,  a hidden  signifi- 
cance in  this  interruption  of  Mr.  Pickering’s  slow  ex- 
ordium ; namely,  Kate  Campbell  and  Mr.  Johnson. 
Kate’s  subtle  sympathy  told  her  that  her  champion  had 
gained  some  secret  reinforcement  of  power,  and  she 
turned  upon  him  a look  of  thanks  which  Harrison  Howe, 
alias  Jim  Barlow,  noted  and  carried  to  the  account  of 
revenge  in  which  Mr.  Stephen  Moore  figured  as  main 
creditor.  As  for  Mr.  Johnson,  the  mention  of  the  name 
of  Jim  Barlow  made  him  almost  visibly  prick  up  his 
ears ; and  the  glance  of  mutual  aversion  which  he  inter- 
cepted between  Stephen  and  Howe  caused  him  much 
mysterious  satisfaction.  He  said  nothing;  but,  pro- 
tected from  observation  by  his  position,  a little  to  the 
rear  of  the  rest,  made  a rapid  entry  in  a book  which  he 
took  from  his  breast-pocket.  At  this  moment  Andy 
Campbell  entered  the  room,  having  finished  the  express 
business  for  the  two  stages  in  his  little  office  behind  the 
bar-room.  Mr.  Johnson’s  roving  eyes  settled  upon  him 
with  an  expression  of  inquisitive  distrust ; and  he  made 
another  entry  in  his  book.  If  one  could  have  looked 
over  his  shoulder  one  might  have  seen  under  this  head 
only  the  words,  Mem.  Campbell  ? Talk  to  him.” 
Stephen  Moore,  having  accomplished  the  object  of  his 
interruption,  disturbed  no  further  the  even  flow  of  the 
main  story,  which,  though  it  has  no  special  relation  to 
mine,  I shall  repeat  out  of  courtesy  to  the  narrator.  To 


SOL  EEDWOOD  S ICE. 


75 


quote  what  suits  you,  and  then  skip  what  does  not  suit 
you,  may  be  the  correct  thing  in  controversy ; but  I may 
have  to  meet  Mr.  Pickering  again  in  California,  and  I 
prefer  not  to  play  any  ''  sharp  game  ” on  him  now. 

''  Wal,  now,  I ’m  way  off  the  road,’’  said  he  ; I started 
to  tell  about  the  time  the  Mikosmy  ferry-boys  bet  with 
Sol  Eedwood  on  his  ice.  You  see,  the  old  man  used  to 
come  down  to  the  ferry  once  in  a while ; for  he  could  n’t 
stand  livin’  alone  as  a stiddy  diet,  and,  besides,  he  used 
to  get  out  o’  whiskey  an’  powder.  Lead  he  made  some- 
how for  himself ; had  a lead  mine,  most  likely,  and  run 
his  bullets  out  of  the  ore. 

One  winter  mornin’  the  boys  was  all  settin’  round 
the  fire  in  the  Mikosmy  House,  close  by  the  ferry,  an’  Sol 
was  thar  too.  There  was  consid’able  ice  in  the  river, 
an’  that  was  rather  remarkable,  for  it  did  n’t  usually 
freeze  so  fur  down  in  the  foot-hills. 

' It  ’ll  go  away  quick  enough,’  says  one  of  the  boys, 
' with  this  ere  sun  onto  it.’ 

Dunno  ’bout  that,’  says  another ; ' ice  is  ice,  ’n’  it 
takes  a heap  o’  sun  to  thaw  ice.’ 

' Thaw  yer  gran’mother  ! ’ says  Sol  Eedwood ; ' ef 
you ’d  studied  nater  as  much  as  you  hev  whiskey,  you ’d 
know  better  ’n  that.  There ’s  as  much  difference  in  ice 
as  there  is  in  anybody ; there ’s  warm  ice,  an’  there ’s 
cold  ice.  Now,  up  whar  I live,  the  ice  is  cold.  This 
’ere  ice  o’  yourn  won’t  stand  no  sun.’ 

''Well,  with  that  they  went  to  jawin’  one  another,  an’ 
finally  they  got  up  a bet  that  Sol  could  n’t  show  a piece 
of  ice  from  the  Sy-erries  that  was  any  more  remarkable 


76 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


than  the  Mikosmy  ice.  An’  Sol,  he  bet  that  his  ice 
could  freeze  out  any  ice  this  side  o’  the  North  Pole.  So 
they  agreed  that  he  should  pack  a piece  down  to  the 
ferry,  an’  the  boys  should  cut  a piece  out  o’  the  river, 
an’  both  pieces  should  be  chipped  till  they  hefted  jest 
even,  an’  set  on  the  side-hill,  whar  the  water  could  dreen 
off  handy,  an’  the  boys  should  stan’  round  an’  time  ’em 
while  they  thawed  in  the  sun.  An’  the  side  that  took 
the  longest  to  thaw  should  rake  in  the  bet  an’  treat  the 
crowd. 

In  about  two  days  down  come  the  old  man,  afoot 
and  leadin’  his  mewl,  with  a pack  on  her  half  as  big  as 
a Wells  Fargo  coach.  But  it  was  mostly  all  blanket ; 
and,  when  they  come  to  unroll  it,  thar  was  a chunk  of 
ice,  about  twenty  pound,  as  clear  as  glass,  an’  when  you 
hit  it  with  a pick  it  rung  like  steel.  The  boys  had  their 
piece  ready ; an’  they  got  things  in  order,  an’  the  show 
started  about  two  o’clock.  The  sun  come  out  awful  hot, 
on  purpose,  as  you  might  say ; an’  I reckon  the  crowd 
thawed  some,  if  the  ice  did  n’t.  But  it  warn’t  long 
afore  the  perspiration  begun  to  run  off  from  the  ice,  an’ 
it  was  pretty  plain  that  the  Mikosmy  chunk  was 
a sweatin’  the  most.  Some  of  the  boys  portended  to 
want  to  see  better,  an’  got  whar  they  could  throw  their 
shadders  on  the  ice  an’  give  it  a chance  to  breathe ; but 
old  Eedwood  was  too  many  for  ’em ; he  pertested,  an’ 
the  umpire  decided  that  the  shadders  was  agin  the  con- 
ditions of  the  bet.  So  they  had  to  git  out  o’  that. 

About  four  o’clock  Mikosmy  weakened  so  bad  that 
the  boys  owned  up  that  there  warn’t  no  chance  for  ’em. 


SOL  RED  WOOD'S  ICE. 

as  you  might  say  ; an'  I 
rec/ion  the  croivd  thmucd  some,  if  the  ice  didn't^ 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


77 


unless  a cloud  or  something  should  turn  up  an’  give  her 
a show  to  cool  off.  But,  in  fact,  she  could  n’t  ’a’  cooled 
off ; she  was  too  fur  gone ; an’  half  an  hour  afore  sun- 
down she  just  collapsed  all  in  a heap,  like  a lump  o’ 
sugar  in  a hot  Scotch.  An’  thar  was  Sol  Eedwood, 
smokin’  his  pipe  as  comfortable  as  a black  bear  in  a hol- 
ler stump.  He  warn’t  worried  a bit ; his  lump  was  jest 
as  solid  as  ever,  only  consid’able  smaller.  An’  when  he 
see  the  game  was  his,  he  took  out  his  pipe,  an’  says  he, 
' I ’ll  double  the  stakes  she  lasts  till  ten  o’clock.’ 

''  So  thar  they  stayed,  and  bet  on  that  chunk ; an’  the 
sun  went  down  ; an’  they  brought  all  the  ferry  lanterns 
an’  set  ’em  around  on  the  hill ; an’  thar  they  stayed  an’ 
bet,  an’  agreed  that  was  the  most  onaccountable  ice  ever 
they  struck ; an’  about  midnight  they  give  it  up,  bein’ 
clean  played  out  a waitin’ ; an’  Sol  Eedwood,  he  rolled 
up  the  piece  of  ice,  about  as  big  as  his  fist,  that  was  left, 
an’  packed  it  on  his  mewl ; an’,  after  treatin’  all  round, 
Sol  started  for  home  ; an’  says  he,  ' When  you  want  to 
bet  agin,  I ’ll  bring  this  piece  back.’ 

Plenty  o’  fellows  that  see  the  hull  thing,  an’  lost 
money  on  it  too,  an’  ’ll  swear  to  it  yet ; but  as  for  ex- 
plainin’ it,  nobody  ever  give  any  better  account  o’  that 
than  old  Sol  Eedwood  himself.  He  always  said,  ' Whar 
I live,  the  ice  is  cold,  an’  you  can’t  make  nothin’  else 
out  of  it.’  ” And  Lije  Pickering  shambled  out  of  the 
room,  mounted  a '"mewl”  before  the  door,  and  jogged 
away  towards  his  cabin  on  the  hill. 

This  story  was  received  with  many  expressions  of  in- 
terest, and  followed  with  much  discussion  of  thermo- 


78 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


metric  theory.  The  explanation  of  old  man  Eedwood, 
being  literally  the  true  one,  was,  of  course,  scouted  by  the 
sensible  minds  of  the  company.  It  is  thus  the  sim- 
plicity of  science  usually  fares  among  the  unscientific. 
There  are  no  theorists  so  wild  as  your  practical  men.” 

Philip  Eussell  listened  to  the  characteristic  Western 
talk  with  a pleasure  not  yet  outworn  by  familiarity'; 
and  he  felt  himself  drawn  towards  the  joEy  driver  by  a 
sentiment  prophetic  of  friendship.  The  impression  made 
upon  him  by  the  station-keeper’s  daughter  was  perhaps 
even  more  remarkable,  since  she  had  scarcely  spoken  a 
word  in  his  hearing,  except  the  few  remarks  which  she 
had  exchanged,  during  supper,  with  the  taciturn  Bronco 
Bill  and  the  talkative  Mr.  Johnson;  and  these,  being 
more  or  less  affected  by  the  slang  of  the  coast,  naturally 
disagreed  with  his  preconceived  notions  of  a lady’s  con- 
versation. 

The  company  broke  up  for  a while  into  desultory 
talk.  A few  discussed  the  reconstruction  policy  of  the 
government  in  a manner  which  indicated  clearly  enough 
the  different  origins  and  the  common  ignorance  of  the 
speakers.  Some  rehearsed  the  latest  rumors  of  big 
bodies  of  ore  discovered  in  the  Washoe  mines,  or  the 
fabulous  richness  of  the  Black  Wax  of  Humboldt 
County,  Nevada.  One  man  still  had  faith  in  the  Frazer 
Eiver  country,  — grave  of  many  hopes.  He  thought  the 
disastrous  results  of  adventure  in  that  remote  northern 
wilderness  had  been  merely  a ''put-up  job”  on  the  part 
of  the  Bank  of  California,  — the  evil  spirit  of  the  Western 
miner’s  mythology.  The  teamsters  rejoiced  over  the 


SOL  redwood’s  ice. 


79 


amount  of  land  in  oats  and  barley  along  the  Sacramento 
and  the  San  Joaquin,  .and  prophesied  cheap  grain  for 
stock,  and  a good  margin  on  freights,  all  winter.  All 
turned  at  last  to  Andy  Campbell,  and  called  unani- 
mously for  that  fiddle.  The  station-keeper,  nothing 
loath,  produced  with  reverent  care  from  its  case  a fine 
old  violin,  and,  after  some  preliminary  tuning,  began  to 
play  a lively  tune,  which  set  the  heels  of  the  assembly 
in  rhythmic  motion  on  the  floor. 

Presently  the  stage-driver  approached  Miss  Campbell 
and  said,  Kate,  shall  we  take  a turn  ? ” The  young 
lady  was  usually  very  ready  to  assist  at  an  extempore 
dance.  Indeed,  even  on  set  occasions,  it  was  hard  to 
get  more  than  half  a dozen  respectable  women  to  adorn 
a ball-room.  Women  were  scarce  on  the  coast  in  those 
days ; and  good  women  were  scarcer.  But  there  never 
was  a time  when  the  keen  instinct  of  propriety  on  the 
part  of  the  rude  pioneer  population  did  not  shield  from 
insulting  associations  the  innocent.  So  soon  as  a 
virtuous  woman  took  up  her  residence  in  one  of  the 
mining  towns,  the  line  was  drawn  between  good  and 
bad  society.  Doubtless  public  opinion  permitted  men 
to  live  on  both  sides  of  the  line,  while  it  strongly  for- 
bade the  same  thing  in  women.  In  that  particular, 
however,  public  opinion  was  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  it  is  in  the  most  enlightened  cities  of  the  East; 
and,  at  all  events,  there  was  a line.  It  followed  that  in 
the  assemblies  of  good  society  ” a few  women  had  to 
do  heavy  duty.  Generally  they  were  buxom  wives  of 
store-keepers  and  ranchmen ; now  and  then  there  would 


80 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


be  a school-teacher;  and  exceedingly  rare  were  pretty, 
refined,  and  educated  girls  like  Kate,  who  was  tacitly 
reverenced  as  a superior  being,  and  whose  quiet  resolu- 
tion that  she  would  not  dance  with  anybody  who  had 
been  drinking,  or  who  in  any  other  way  forgot  the  man- 
ners of  a gentleman,  worked,  whenever  she  was  present, 
an  amazing,  though  possibly  in  most  cases  a merely 
temporary,  change  in  the  rough  ways  which  character- 
ized even  good  society  near  the  diggings.  As  for  people 
she  did  n’t  know,  she  would  n’t  dance  with  them  at  all ; 
and  it  required  a considerable  apprenticeship  of  sobriety 
and  cleanliness  to  get  upon  her  list  of  favored  partners, 
among  whom  Stephen  Moore  undoubtedly  held  the  first 
place.  It  should  be  added  that  the  citizens  of  Goldopolis 
had  assemblies  where  these  refinements  were  not  known, 
and  that  few  of  them  came  so  far  as  Gentleman  Andy’s 
to  enjoy  his  superior  fiddling  and  his  superior  daughter’s 
society,  in  lieu  of  the  baser  delights  of  hard  drinking, 
gambling,  and  fighting.  Yet  occasionally  some  would 
make  the  pilgrimage  who  could  appreciate  good  music, 
or  who  had  not  forgotten  their  mothers  and  sisters.  To 
these  were  added  the  teamsters  who  frequented  the  road, 
and  habitually  made  forced  marches  to  stop  the  longer 
at  Campbell’s,  ''  and  rest  the  stock.”  These  outsiders 
would  sit  contentedly  around  the  borders  of  the  room, 
and  watch  the  favored  few  who  had  lady  partners.  It 
gave  their  weary  limbs  the  pleasure  without  the  fatigue 
of  the  dance. 

But  this  night  was  not  an  occasion  ” ; and  Kate,  for 
some  reason,  was  disinclined  to  take  a turn.”  Perhaps 


SOL  REDWOOD  S ICE. 


81 


she  did  not  care,  in  the  presence  of  a fine  young  gentle- 
man from  the  States,  to  expose  the  worthy  stage-driver 
to  criticism ; for  Stephen’s  dancing,  it  must  be  owned, 
was  something  less  than  perfect-  The  'Hoe”  of  the 
coast,  at  that  period,  was  " fantastic,”  but  not  " light.” 
Perhaps  her  reluctance  had  a deeper  cause.  At  all 
events,  she  declined  the  invitation  with  an  unnecessary 
blush  and  a deprecating  glance  which  quite  disarmed 
Stephen’s  gathering  discontent.  In  reply  to  her  look, 
rather  than  her  words,  he  answered  cheerily,  " All  right ; 
what ’s  the  use  of  a friend  if  you  can’t  say  no  to  him  ? ” 
and,  crossing  the  room  to  his  seat  again,  subsided  into 
the  position  of  a listener,  allowing  the  entertainment  to 
remain  a concert,  instead  of  lapsing  into  a ball.  Andy 
Campbell  played  on,  in  rapt  indifference  to  his  auditors. 
Whether  they  danced,  or  beat  time  on  the  floor,  or  sang, 
was  of  no  moment  to  him.  He  was  alone  with  his 
violin;  and  out  of  his  ecstasy  of  solitude  he  poured 
strains  of  such  diverse  power  as  to  carry  the  company 
through  many  phases  of  feeling.  Gliding  from  one 
theme  to  another,  he  now  hushed  the  room  to  silence  by 
the  pathos  of  some  well-remembered  melody  of  home, 
now  woke  the  echoes  of  a thundering  chorus  with  some 
stirring  lyric,  now  brought  forth  a single  voice  from  this 
or  that  famous  solo  singer  of  the  party,  by  playing  a 
familiar  strain  of  ballad-music  that  irresistibly  called  for 
words.  There  was  no  formal  invitation.  When  the 
notes  of  "Joe  Bowers,”  for  instance,  began  to  sound,  the 
whole  assembly  looked  with  one  accord  toward  the  only 
man  present  who  could  sing  "Joe  Bowers,”  — an  ac- 


82 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


complishment,  by  the  way,  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  and  a 
tune,  by  the  way,  which  no  instrument  but  a violin  can 
utter.  The  singer  began  at  once,  from  his  seat,  and  de- 
livered the  comic  ditty  in  a mournful,  yet  business-like 
way,  which  enhanced  its  humor.  Other  ballads  fol- 
lowed, very  plaintive  and  sentimental  or  didactic  strains 
being  evidently  the  favorites.  ''Weep  o’er  my  Grave,” 
"Farewell,  but  whenever,”  "Maid  of  Athens,”  "Father, 
come  Home  ” (a  temperance  song  with  as  many  verses 
as  the  clock  has  opportunities  of  striking  before  it  runs 
down),  were  delivered  at  length,  each  by  its  own  pro- 
prietor, with  whose  right  to  his  special  repertoire  nobody 
dreamed  of  interfering.  But  these  vocal  performances 
were  invariably  followed  by  instrumental  pieces  played 
without  pause  by  the  tireless  hand  of  Andrew  Campbell. 

There  was,  of  course,  some  subdued  conversation  going 
■^on,  though  not  to  such  an  annoying  extent  as  in  more 
fashionable  audiences.  Indeed,  these  rough  pioneers  had 
learned  somehow  two  lessons  which  have  been  forgotten 
in  polished  society.  The  first  is,  that  one  should  not 
talk  so  as  to  disturb  the  audience  at  a concert ; and  the 
second  is,  that  if  one  is  really  paying  attention  to  the 
music,  a good  deal  of  talking,  if  it  is  carried  on  in  suit- 
ably low  tones,  will  not  disturb  one.  Those  who  know 
these  important  maxims,  here  at  the  East,  are  mostly 
Germans. 

Philip  Eussell  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  speak 
to  Kate  Campbell  under  cover  of  this  general  occupa- 
tion of  the  rest  of  the  company;  and  Mr.  Johnson  was 
equally  drawn,  it  appeared,  to  a private  interview  with 


SOL  kedwood’s  ice. 


83 


Stephen  Moore.  To  accomplish  this,  he  made  some 
excuse  to  call  the  stage-driver  out  on  the  piazza,  from 
which  the  two  proceeded  across  to  the  stable.  Thus  it 
happened  that  Stephen  did  not  witness  the  earnest  talk 
between  Kate  and  the  handsome  young  stranger,  — a 
circumstance  which  may  be,  or  may  not  be,  important. 
Let  that  appear,  as  Dogberry  says,  '^when  there  is  no 
need  of  such  vanity.’’ 


84 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 

Miss  Campbell  was  drumming  on  the  table  in  an 
absent-minded  way,  and  looking  intently  at  nothing  at 
all,  when  Philip,  who  had  already  begun  acquaintance 
during  supper,  addressed  her.  His  first  remark  was 
awkward  in  one  respect,  for  it  was  obviously  out  of  place 
in  that  locality;  but  it  was  so  like  the  beginning  of 
''  small  talk  in  fashionable  society  that  it  had  the  double 
good  effect  of  making  her  laugh  and  at  the  same  time 
feel  that  he  recognized  her  as  a lady.  Perhaps,  therefore, 
he  might  have  done  no  better  if  he  had  opened  the  con- 
versation with  more  deliberate  tact.  As  he  watched  the 
retreating  form  of  Stephen  Moore,  he  made  this  some- 
what silly  speech,  '^You  don’t  approve  of  dancing. 
Miss  Campbell  ? ” 

^'Indeed  I do,”  she  laughed  in  reply;  adding  in  a more 
serious  tone,  it  is  not  so  good  as  better  ways  of  spend- 
ing time,  perhaps ; but  it  is  infinitely  better  than  the 
worst.” 

''  You  play  the  piano,”  said  Philip,  blundering  away 
from  “that  topic  to  one,  under  the  circumstances,  still 
more  unfortunate ; I see  you  are  following  with  your 
fingers  the  air  your  father  is  playing  on  the  violin.” 

This  time  Kate  did  not  laugh,  but  looked  almost  tear- 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


85 


ful  as  she  replied,  ''  I had  a piano  at  ho — , I mean  in  the 
States ; and  I was  very  fond  of  it.” 

It  must  indeed  be  a great  sacrifice  to  you  to  live  in 
this  wild  solitude,  with  such  rough  neighbors  and  with- 
out your  accustomed  pleasures,”  said  Philip,  going  from 
bad  to  worse,  in  the  conviction  that  he  had  before  him  a 
pretty  and  disconsolate  creature,  who  would  be  glad  of  a 
chance  to  condole  with  him  over  her  lost  delights. 

Kate  resented  the  remark,  as  the  flint  resents  the 
stroke  of  steel.  She  never  admitted,  even  to  herself,  that 
she  was  discontented  with  her  lot ; she  resolutely  de- 
clined to  consider  her  devotion  to  her  father  in  the  light 
of  a sacrifice ; she  had  striven,  not  without  success,  to 
adapt  herself  to  new  conditions,  to  make  friends  and  to 
be  useful  to  her  friends,  forgiving  and  seeking  to  amend 
their  shortcomings ; and  here  was  a handsome,  imperti- 
nent young  fellow  (no,  she  couldn’t  feel  that  he  was 
impertinent,  for  he  was  so  polite,  and  certainly  he  was 
taking  pains  to  be  kind)  who  ventured  to  assume  that 
she  was  an  unwilling  prisoner.  She  turned  indignantly 
upon  him ; but  he  had  seen  his  mistake  already,  and 
hastened  to  add,  Pardon  me ; I did  not  mean  to  imply 
that  you  do  not  find  compensation  here  for  whatever 
you  left  behind.” 

''I  left  nothing  behind,”  she  replied,  '^except  such 
things  as  my  pictures  and  piano.  My  home  and  my 
friends  are  here.  The  wilderness  is  more  beautiful  than 
a tame  flat  garden,  and  the  rough  neighbors  have  truer 
hearts  than  men  in  fine  clothes.  It  is  not  the  best 
dressed  among  them,”  she  added,  with  a just  perceptible 


86 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


glance  towards  Mr.  Harrison  Howe,  who  at  this  moment 
left  the  house  and  sauntered  toward  the  stable,  ''  that  are 
the  best.’’ 

But  you  do  miss  the  piano  ? ” persisted  Philip,  ridicu- 
lously in  want  of  something  better  to  say. 

Yes,”  she  answered,  ''the  piano  — and  the  sea.” 

" Then  you  used  to  live  by  the  sea  ? ” he  asked,  eagerly, 
catching  at  this  clew  to  her  former  history.  She  looked 
quickly  at  him,  with  the  air  of  one  suddenly  caught  in 
a snare ; but  she  slipped  out  of  it  skillfully,  and,  on  the 
whole,  without  embarrassment. 

" I have  seen  the  ocean,  and  wish  I might  see  it  again. 
But  I waste  no  time  in  such  thoughts.  If  I were  at  the 
seaside,  I know  I should  miss  my  mountains.  You  do 
not  know  the  Sierra  yet ; when  you  do,  you  will  not 
wonder  that  I love  to  live  in  its  shadow.  And  when 
you  know  these  people  better,  you  will  find  them 
heroic,  if  not  refined.” 

Philip  was  profoundly  astonished.  Was  this  the 
young  lady  who  had  just  been  talking  slang  with  drivers 
and  teamsters  ? The  fact  was,  she  was  unconsciously 
talking  " her  best  ” at  him ; and  her  best  was  better  than 
the  average  of  ladies’  talk,  because  she  got  it  out  of 
books,  instead  of  persons.  Philip  felt  that  he  must 
bring  out  his  reserved  vocabulary.  He  need  not  conde- 
scend to  amuse  or  console  this  trim,  dark-haired  young 
woman,  he  must  rather  exert  himself  to  make  a favor- 
able impression  upon  her.  Miss  Campbell,  on  the  other 
hand,  undoubtedly  enjoyed  the  opportunity  to  air  her 
finest  thoughts  and  words,  as  one  enjoys  a chance  to  dis- 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


87 


play  (on  a truly  suitable  occasion,  mind ; nothing  is  so 
vulgar  as  to  display  by  main  force,  as  it  were,  and  with- 
out excuse)  one’s  most  ornamental  clothes. 

So  for  a short  time  they  swapped  syllables,”  as  the 
cynics  of  the  coast  call  the  intellectual  game  of  mere 
conversation ; and  this  second  stage  of  their  acquaintance, 
though  it  was  speedily  over,  accomplished  a great  deal 
towards  making  them  friends.  It  gave  them  something 
in  common,  which  nobody  around  them  shared  with 
them,  — a sense  of  mutual  comprehension,  of  co-equality, 
of  fellowship  in  matters  of  syntax  and  style  and  conven- 
tional sentiment,  out  of  which  could  easily  spring  a 
sense  of  sympathy. 

In  truth,  it  was  scarcely  more  than  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  that  young  novice,  Philip,  might  have  been  over- 
heard to  tell  Miss  Campbell  that  she  reminded  him  of 
his  sister  Alice,  — an  absurd  proposition,  if  any  one  else 
had  made  it ; for  the  two  girls  were  not  alike  in  appear- 
ance or  temperament.  Alice  was  gentler,  more  matured 
and  refined  in  thought,  but  far  less  practically  acquainted 
with  the  realities  of  life.  She  lived  mainly  in  a world 
of  her  own,  with  her  brother,  and  her  favorite  poets,  and 
the  human  race  as  set  forth  in  books  by  philosophic  or 
picturesque  writers.  Kate  had  no  brother  to  worship ; 
and  though  her  devotion  to  her  father  was  in  reality 
more  sublime  than  Alice’s  sisterly  affection,  she  was  not 
conscious  of  its  virtue  or  its  charm.  When  we  love  with 
a rapture  of  admiration,  we  usually  deceive  ourselves 
more  or  less  as  to  the  object  of  affection.  We  idealize, 
dream,  revel  in  the  delight  of  the  love  itself,  bringing 


88 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


back  the  fables  of  romance,  and  making  them  true  by 
force  of  our  own  will,  as  children  insist  on  believing  in 
fairies.  But  the  heart  that  sees  and  mourns  the  weak- 
ness of  its  beloved,  and  loves  steadfastly  nevertheless,  is 
more  heavenly,  if  less  romantic.  One  love  is  the  blind 
Cupid ; the  other  is  the  clear -eyed,  pitiful  angel.  And 
the  angel  knows  not  that  she  is  fair. 

But  these  two  had  in  common  the  faculty  of  faith, 
and  the  quality  of  sincerity,  however  unlike  their  devel- 
opments. Kate  would  have  faced  a lion  in  the  cause  of 
duty  or  of  love;  Alice  would  have  suffered  no  less, 
though  she  might  not  have  dared  or  done  so  much. 
Both  of  them  could  trust  perfectly,  both  of  them  were 
profoundly  religious  in  nature ; though  one  was  medita- 
tive and  prone  to  be  mystical,  while  the  other  was  active 
and  efficient.  Alice  had  her  spiritual  doubts  and  troubles, 
and  soared  above  them  on  wings  of  faith ; Kate  had  her 
earthly  troubles  and  difficulties,  and  went  straight 
through  them,  clearing  her  way  with  arms  of  faith.  In 
short,  one  flew,  and  the  other  swam. 

It  was  a glimpse  of  the  truthfulness  and  earnestness 
of  Kate  Campbells  character,  afforded  by  some  casual 
remark,  which  led  Philip  to  the  impulsive  declaration 
that  she  reminded  him  of  his  sister ; and  that  being  a 
theme  on  which  he  talked  with  unaffected  eloquence,  the 
conversation  speedily  drifted  out  of  the  realm  of  fine 
commonplaces.  His  glowing  eulogy  of  Alice  brought 
a blush  to  the  cheek  of  the  young  lady,  who,  putting 
this  and  that  together,’’  was  led  to  say,  I am  not  like 
that  in  the  least,  Mr.  Eussell.” 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


89 


Philip  ardently  wished  to  say,  Yes,  you  are;  but 
the  influence  of  her  candor  — was  it  candor,  Kate,  or  the 
desire  to  hear  a certain  assertion  over  again  ? — com- 
pelled him  to  reply,  Well,  I don’t  mean  you  are  exactly 
like  my  sister,  but  you  do  remind  me  of  her.  I am 
sure  you  look  at  things  as  she  does.  You  must  n’t  judge 
of  Alice  by  me,  you  know ; she  knows  what  she  believes, 
and  nothing  disturbs  her.  As  for  me,  I have  got  so  con- 
fused with  speculations  about  life  and  duty  and  destiny, 
that  I don’t  know  what  to  think  about  it  all.” 

“ Then  don’t  think  about  it,”  said  Kate,  archly.  If 
I resemble  your  sister  at  all,  it  must  be  in  telling  the 
truth ; I try  to  do  that.  And  the  truth  is,  in  my  case, 
that  I don’t  worry  myself  with  things  I can’t  under- 
stand. Of  course,  it  is  right  t6  do  right ; and  there ’s  a 
verse  somewhere  — is  n’t  there  ? — that  says  it  is  neces- 
sary to  do  right  in  order  to  understand  the  reason  of  it.” 
But  what  is  truth  ? ” said  Philip,  bringing  out  his 
prize  puzzle,  as  it  were,  and  watching  curiously  for  the 
answer.  He  remembered  how  sentimentally  Alice  and 
he  had  discussed  this  matter,  with  a sunset  for  a text, 
and  the  old,  old  paradox  of  the  subjective  and  objective 
for  a pervading  spirit.  He  had  to  deal  with  a different 
spirit  now. 

I hate  conundrums,”  said  Miss  Campbell ; truth  is 
a noun ; don’t  make  an  interrogation-point  out  of  it.” 
''Do  you  mean  that  I must  not  inquire  after  the 
truth  ? ” said  Philip,  a little  startled  at  this  new  view  of 
the  case. 

" I don’t  mean  that  you  must  or  must  not  do  any- 


90 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


thing.  But  if  you  mean  by  truth  something  truer  than 
honesty  and  kindness,  or  sorrow  and  sin,  something  — 
something  — ’’ 

Absolute,’'  suggested  Philip. 

Not  choosing  to  admit  her  ignorance  of  the  absolute 
(though  she  might  have  done  so  with  safety,  as  all  philoso- 
phers must  confess),  Kate  neither  accepted  nor  declined 
the  word,  but  went  on : ''  All  I can  say  is,  that  I don’t 
believe  you  could  do  anything  with  it  if  you  found  it. 
There  was  a man  here  one  night  with  a patent  for 
making  something  that  would  dissolve  everything  else. 
He  pretended  it  was  an  old  secret,  known  to  the 
Egyptians  or  the  Arabians  or  somebody,  and  he  was 
going  to  apply  it  to  the  quartz  mines.” 

The  universal  solvent  of  the  alchemists,”  said  Philip, 
with  a smile. 

Well,  whatever  it  was,  he  proposed  to  work  such  won- 
ders with  it,  that  I asked  him  at  last  what  he  was  going  to 
keep  it  in ; and  you  never  saw  anybody  so  embarrassed. 
The  boys  gave  me  three  cheers.”  She  indulged  in  a merry 
laugh  over  the  recollection,  and  added,  Now,  don’t  you 
think,  if  you  found  your  universal  truth,  it  might  be  as 
hard  to  hold  as  that  universal  solvent  ? I only  judge 
for  myself,  though,  after  all ; the  truth  that  I believe  is 
the  truth  to  me.” 

But  then  another  — I,  for  instance  — might  not  be 
able  to  see  the  same  truth,”  persisted  Philip. 

''Very  well,”  said  she,  letting  fly  a bolt  of  sarcasm, 
and  lapsing  out  of  Addisonian  into  Californian;  "it’s 
none  of  my  funeral.” 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


91 


Philip  winced  a little  at  this,  but  felt  that  the  missile, 
though  rough,  was  neatly  aimed.  ''Ah,  Miss  Campbell,’ 
he  rejoined,  half  earnestly,  " you  don’t  mean  that  you 
would  not  instruct  a poor  fellow  who  was  going  wrong  ? ” 
" I don’t  instruct  anybody,”  she  replied,  in  the  same 
tone,  " except  the  children  on  Sunday  afternoons.  As 
for  grown-ups,  if  they  care  to  know  what  I believe,  I 
am  willing  to  tell  them.  But  everybody  sails  his  own 
boat ; I have  never  been  able  to  do  much  good  by  shout- 
ing out  of  mine.  My  Bible  may  not  teach  astronomy, 
but  it  gives  me  all  the  rules  I want  for  navigation.  If 
people  prefer  to  go  bobbing  about  while  they  study  the 
stars,  I am  too  weak  and  too  busy  to  interfere.” 

This  was  just  what  Philip  had  been  in  danger  of  do- 
ing, — bobbing  about,  studying  the  stars  ; wasting  the 
voyage  in  preparations.  It  struck  him  forcibly  that  he 
might  sail  by  the  old  chart,  after  all,  and  probably  learn 
as  much  about  the  universe  en  route  as  he  was  likely  to 
find  out  by  drifting.  His  surprise  at  finding  such  keen 
perception  and  ready  retort  in  this  obscure  station-keep- 
er’s daughter  was  greater  than  it  would  have  been  had 
he  refiected  that  the  settlers  on  the  Pacific  slope  were 
not  indigenous  barbarians,  but  heterogeneous  samples  of 
the  society  of  the  world.  And  if  the  reader  is  inclined 
to  believe  the  character  of  Katherine  Campbell  unnatural 
or  unnaturally  located,  let  him  be  reminded  that  nothing 
was  more  common,  at  a recent  period,  in  the  communities 
of  the  West,  than  just  such  incongruities.  Moreover,  let 
him  consider  that  Miss  Campbell  said  nothing,  after  all, 
that  was  more  brilliant  or  more  profound  than  the  read- 


92 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


er’s  own  sister  might  say,  if  she  is  a bright,  sensible 
earnest  girl,  who  reads  her  Bible  and  the  magazines.  To 
Philip,  I must  confess,  it  sounded,  under  the  bewildering 
circumstances,  like  the  wisdom  of  a new  Hypatia,  or  at 
least  of  an  Olympia  Morata.  But  these  distinguished 
women  are  popularly  supposed  to  have  been  always 
stately  and  sublime.  Neither  of  them  lived  two  lives  at 
once,  as  Kate  seemed  to  do ; though  a closer  study  would 
show  that  Kate's  life  was  a unit  in  spirit  and  purpose, 
and  that  she  was  as  truly  herself,  serene,  resolute,  heroic, 
when  she  walked  ten  miles  after  a lost  cow,  with  a 
revolver  in  her  pocket,  or  joked  and  chatted  with  miners 
or  teamsters  in  language  as  picturesquely  unfashionable 
as  their  own,  as  when  she  played  fine  lady  to  a fine  gen- 
tleman like  Philip,  or  taught  a handful  of  ranchmen's 
children  — Mexicans  and  all  — to  read  and  write,  or,  in 
the  seclusion  inviolate  of  her  own  chamber,  read  and 
read  again  the  few  books  that  are  books,"  which  were 
almost  the  only  remnants  of  that  former  life  she  had  so 
resolutely  put  behind  her. 

Miss  Campbell,"  said  Philip,  after  a pause,  during 
which,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  they 
had  listened  in  silence  to  the  melody  of  ''Auld  Eobin 
Gray,"  played  with  infinite  pathos  by  Andy  Campbell, 
I do  really,  for  my  own  sake,  desire  to  know  more  of 
your  way  of  dealing,  not  with  the  abstract  questions,  — 
I own  that  you  have  silenced  me  there,  — but  with  the 
practical  circumstances  of  this  strange  situation  in  which 
you  are  placed.  How  can  you  find  anytliing  tolerable  in 
these  rude  men  ? The  sight  of  mountains  and  woods  is 


PHILIP  AND  KA  TE. 

‘ can  yon.  find  anything  tolei'able  in  these  rude  men  ?” 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


93 


no  doubt  as  agreeable  and  elevating  here  as  it  would  be 
anywhere ; but  does  not  man  spoil  for  you  the  harmony 
of  nature  ? ’’ 

''  I felt  so  for  a little  while/'  said  Kate,  ''  when  I first 
came ; but  I learned  better  long  ago.  My  chief  experi- 
ence of  the  selfishness  and  cruelty  of  man  was  — was 
not  here.  All  these  rough,  hard-working  fellows  treat 
me  kindly ; I do  not  lecture  them  on  their  vices ; but 
they  know  my  thoughts,  and  try  to  please  me.  There  is 
nobody  to  care  much  for  them,  except  the  Catholic  priest 
who  comes  over  from  the  Placerville  district  once  or 
twice  in  the  season,  and  does  what  he  can.  Father  Eyan 
is  a good  man,  and  his  influence  is  not  small ; yet  I 
think  the  boys  care  more  for  me,  — because,  you  know,  I 
am  here  all  the  time.  But  the  priest  and  I are  on  the 
best  of  terms ; he  calls  me  his  little  heretic  missionary ; 
and  I am  certain  he  would  give  me  positive  instead  of 
passive  encouragement,  if  it  were  not  for  his  official 
duty." 

Duty  ? " queried  Philip,  lifting  his  eyebrows  slightly, 
by  way  of  intimation  that  a Catholic’s  duty  to  hinder  a 
Protestant  was  of  a very  dubious  character. 

“ Yes,"  replied  Kate,  accepting  the  logical  dilemma 
without  hesitation.  ''So  he  says,  and  I believe  him. 
But  I know  it  is  my  duty,  for  instance,  to  teach  the  chil- 
dren, because  there  is  no  one  else  to  do  it ; and  I have 
no  trouble  with  Father  Eyan.  I told  him  once  what  I 
was  doing,  and  that  the  children  were  even  reading  the 
Protestant  Bible,  though  some  of  them  come  from  Catholic 
families.  'Now,  Father  Eyan/ said  I,  'you  must  help 


94 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


me  if  you  can,  and  let  me  alone  if  you  can’t  do  any 
better.  I want  to  keep  these  children  out  of  the  saloons, 
and  away  from  drinking  and  gambling  and  swearing,  at 
least  one  day  in  the  week.  And  I want  to  get  up  a sort 
of  reading-room  for  the  men,  and  give  them  all  the 
innocent  entertainment  that  I can  possibly  contrive. 
Whatever  you  will  do  to  help  me,  I shall  be  very  grate- 
ful for.  If  you  will  send  me  good  Catholic  books,  for 
instance,  or  if  you  will  talk  to  the  people  once  in  a 
while.’ 

I wish  you  could  have  heard  the  queer,  dear  little 
speech  he  made.  He  is  an  Irishman,  you  know,  and  as 
full  of  humor  as  he  is  of  zeal.  ' May  the  blessin’  o’  the 
saints  light  on  ye,  me  darlin  ’ ! ’ he  began, ' but  ye  ought  to 
be  a good  Catholic  intirely,  an’  sure  that  ’ll  come  in  time. 
It’s  a perilous  thing  ye’re  afther  doin’,  misleadin’  the 
innocent  souls  o’  thim  tender  children,  an’  puttin’  hereti- 
cal notions  in  the  heads  o’  the  min.  I ’ve  no  right  to 
encourage  ye  in  yer  wickedness.  But  no  doubt  ye’ll 
put  in  a good  word,  now  an’  thin,  for  the  thrue  Church ; 
an’  boy  me  sowl,  the  poor  crayters  is  goin’  to  ruin  now, 
an’  ye  can’t  make  it  worse.-  Sure,  I ’m  clane  tired  out 
fightin’  the  divils  o’  dhrink,  an’  gamblin’,  an’  the  loike ; 
an’  it ’s  meself  ’ud  be  glad  to  practice  on  a lot  o’  well- 
behaved  heretics,  by  way  o’  varoiety.  Truth  an’  they 
might,  by  the  blessin’  o’  God,  an’  the  prayers  o’  the 
saints,  be  got  into  purgatory  at  laste.  It ’s  not  for  me 
to  say  but  a heretic  might  be  convarted,  — ye  ’ll  be  con- 
varted  yerself,  me  choild,  I’m  sure  o’  that;  faith,  you’ve 
a better  show  than  a dhrunkard  or  a thafe.  I ’ll  be  glad 


TWO  CONVEKSATIONS. 


95 


to  do  what  I can  to  conntheract  yer  bad  influence  ; I ’ll 
come  an’  talk  to  the  boys,  an’  I ’ll  make  some  checker- 
boords  (I ’m  a moighty  workman  in  the  carpenthry  busi- 
ness) to  send  over  to  your  radin’-room.  They’ll  keep 
some  o’  the  boys  from  fillin’  their  minds  with  nonsense ; 
an’  av  ye’ve  no  objections,  I’ll  cut  the  sign  o’  the  cross 
on  the  under  side  o’  the  boords.  An’  av  I can  get  any 
rale  good  Catholic  books,  I ’ll  send  thim  along  too ; an’, 
faith  ! it ’s  a pity  the  young  ones  should  n’t  rade,  — let 
’em  learn  out  o’  the  Protestant  Bible,  av  you  must ; it ’s 
better  than  nothin’  at  all.  But  it ’s  a wicked  little  here- 
tic ye  are,  an’  I ’ll  write  to  the  Bishop  that  the  haythen 
are  gettin’  the  upper  hand  o’  me  in  the  parish  o’  Camp- 
bell’s Station ! ’ 

All  this  was  accompanied  with  innumerable  smiles 
and  nods  of  good-fellowship ; and  I was  made  quite  sure 
of  Father  Eyan’s  sympathy  by  his  address  that  night  to 
a crowd  of  the  boys  in  this  very  room.  He  told  them 
they  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  be  outdone  by  a poor  be- 
nighted Protestant  in  good  works ; and  urged  them,  in 
the  interest  of  the  true  Church,  to  come  to  my  reading- 
room,  and  send  their  children  to  my  school  in  such  num- 
bers as  to  overwhelm  and  entirely  counteract  the  heretic 
element.  With  real  Irish  blarney,  he  complimented  me 
as  a ' swate  misgoided  crayter,’  and  told  them  not  to  let 
harm  come  to  a hair  of  my  head,  lest  ‘ the  natest  little 
Catholic  — that  was  to  be  — on  the  whole  Pacific  coast 
should  be  spoiled  in  the  making.’  The  result  of  it  all 
was  that  I had  a host  of  friends,  and  my  reading-room, 
which,  by  the  way,  is  rather  barren  of  books  and  papers 


96 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


just  now,  has  been  heavily  patronized  ever  since. 
Father  cannot  close  the  bar,  or  forbid  gambling ; but  we 
generally  succeed  in  furnishing  better  amusement.” 

While  this  strange  conversation  was  going  on  in  the 
sitting-room,  Mr.  Johnson  and  Stephen  Moore  were  hav- 
ing a colloquy  in  the  stable.  As  they  entered  the  long 
room,  with  a row  of  stalls  down  either  side,  nothing 
could  be  seen  by  the  light  of  the  single  lantern  overhead, 
except  the  shining  backs  and  tails  of  the  horses ; and 
nothing  could  be  heard,  save  the  regular  munching  and 
grinding  which  indicated  that  the  teams  recently  arrived 
were  now  engaged  at  supper.  The  hostler  had  finished 
his  labors  for  the  time  being,  and  was  in  the  house,  at 
work  on  his  supper.  The  two  men  had  the  stable  to 
themselves.  They  seemed  to  have  come  to  no  under- 
standing, as  yet,  concerning  the  reason  of  their  inter- 
view ; for  Stephen  remarked,  as  they  passed  the  door- 
posts, Well,  Mr.  Johnson,  it ’s  easy  to  say,  ' Come  out  to 
the  stable  ’ ; but  you  ought  n’t  to  segregate  * a fellow  in 
this  way,  unless  you  have  something  particular  to  say  to 
him.” 

“Exactly,”  replied  Mr.  Johnson;  “I  have  something 
particular  to  say  to  you.  You  have  been  on  the  line 
here  long  enough  to  know  who  I am.” 

“Yes,”  said  Stephen,  “I  knew  you  as  soon  as  you 
came  into  the  kitchen  for  supper;  but  you’ve  been 

* This  word  has  been  adopted  by  the  miners  of  the  Pacific  coast,  who 
got  it  from  the  lawyers.  To  segregate  mining  claims  is  to  divide  among 
the  individual  owners  the  ground  previously  held  in  common.  Upon 
this  literal  sense  various  whimsical  figurative  uses  are  based. 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


97 


away  a good  while.  Have  n’t  seen  you  afore  since  — ” 
Here  a gesture  from  Mr.  Johnson  checked  his  words. 

''No  need  of  particulars  between  old  acquaintances/’ 
remarked  Mr.  Johnson ; " I ’ve  been  looking  after  a man 
high  and  low,  East  and  West,  all  the  time ; and  I ’m  look- 
ing for  him  yet.  If  I could  find  him  now,  he ’d  hear  of 
something  to  his  advantage.  His  friends  want  to  see 
him.  There’s  a trifle  coming  to  him,  — a snug  little 
country  residence.”  Mr.  J ohnson  chuckled  significantly, 
as  if  a country  residence  were  something  specially  fun- 
ny. " By  the  way,”  he  continued,  " who  goes  up  to- 
night ? ” 

"Nobody  but  yourself  and  the  young  fellow  you’re 
travelling  with,  and  Hank  Howe.” 

"Exactly,”  pursued  Mr.  Johnson.  "Now  I want  to 
have  the  young  fellow  ride  outside  with  you,  so  that  Mr. 
Howe  and  I can  have  a little  talk  by  ourselves.  He ’s  a 
friend  of  yours,  — is  n’t  he  ? ” 

"Not  much,  he  ain’t!”  retorted  Stephen,  promptly; 
" there ’s  no  love  lost  between  us  just  at  present,  you  bet 
your  life.  In  fact,  it  ’ll  be  healthier  for  both  of  us  if  you 
keep  him  inside ; though  I judge  I ’ve  got  to  have  him 
on  the  box  next  trip  down,  a guarding  the  treasure.” 
The  stage-driver  snorted  with  disgust  at  the  thought,  and 
added  more  coolly,  " But  I ’ve  no  call  to  quarrel  with 
him  so  long  as  he  don’t  quarrel  with  me  or  interfere 
with  my  driving.” 

Mr.  Johnson  did  not  seem  inclined  to  continue  inqui- 
ries about  Hank  Howe,  but  asked  abruptly,  " What  sort 
of  a man  is  this  Campbell  ? ” 


98 


BliAVE  HEAKTS. 


At  this  moment  Mr.  Harrison  Howe,  who  had  ap- 
proached the  stable  unobserved,  got  into  position  under 
the  eaves  in  the  dark  shadow  (which  grew  momently 
darker  as  the  moon  began  to  disappear  below  the  hori- 
zon), and  opposite  a chink  in  the  wall  to  which  he  ap- 
plied his  ear.  He  was  too  late  to  hear  any  allusions  to 
himself ; and  what  he  did  hear  appeared  to  relieve  him 
of  some  secret  apprehension,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
to  afford  him  satisfactory  aid  in  some  secret  design. 

Andy ’s  a harmless  sort  of  man,’’  said  Stephen,  slowly, 
as  if  resolved  not  to  give  an  unjust  judgment,''  but  there ’s 
something  the  matter  with  him.  Andy  ain’t  quite  right. 
He ’s  had  a big  scare,  some  time  or  other,  and  he  can’t 
get  over  it.  Put  your  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  ’ll 
pretty  nigh  faint  away.  Kate  can  discount  7im,  any 
day.  She ’s  got  the  spirit  of  ten  such.” 

"Mce  girl,”  interrupted  Mr.  Johnson,  "but  never 
mind  her.  I want  to  ask  you  about  the  old  man.  If  he 
should  be  connected  with  any  goings  on,  now,  say  with 
these  road-agents  — ” 

" Wliat,  Andy  ? ” cried  the  stage-driver ; " nary  time  ! 
That  ain’t  his  gait.  They  might  frighten  him  into  keep- 
ing still,  or  something  of  that  sort;  but  as  for  doing 
anything,  Andy  has  n’t  got  pluck  enough  to  go  through  * 
a blind  beggar.  He  ain’t  exactly  afeared  o’  danger, 
neither ; but  he  could  n’t  do  anything  if  he  knew  it  be- 
forehand and  had  time  to  think  it  over.  Anyhow,  I 
would  n’t  like  to  believe  that  he ’d  steal  or  lie ; he 
wouldn’t,  sure,  if  Kate  was  around;  but  what  one  o’ 


To  rob. 


TWO  CONVERSATIONS. 


99 


tliese  skeaiy  fellows  will  do  when  you  catch  him  alone, 
it  ain’t  for  me  to  say.” 

Here  the  dialogue  began  to  flag;  and  soon  after  the 
parties  returned  to  the  house,  followed,  after  a safe  inter- 
val, by  Mr.  Howe.  They  entered  the  sitting-room  to 
find  the  concert  in  full  progress,  and,  subsiding  into  dif- 
ferent seats,  held  no  more  intercourse  that  evening. 

It  is  perhaps  worth  mentioning,  that  Howe,  on  his 
way  back  to  the  house,  paused  at  the  stage-coach,  which 
stood  in  front  of  the  stable,  its  tongue  stretched  out  be- 
fore it,  ready  for  a new  team.  A sudden  thought  seemed 
to  strike  him.  He  climbed  up  to  the  driver’s  seat,  and, 
partly  behind  and  partly  beneath  the  cushion,  found  a 
navy  revolver.  It  was  the  work  of  a moment  to  remove 
the  loaded  cylinder,  and  put  in  its  place  a similar  cyl- 
inder, empty,  which  he  took  from  his  own  pocket. 
^'The  great  advantage  of  these  arms,”  muttered  Mr. 
Howe,  sarcastically  repeating  a line  from  the  manufac- 
turer’s advertisement,  ''  is  that,  being  made  by  machin- 
ery, the  parts  fit  perfectly,  and  any  part  can  be  replaced 
at  any  time.” 

Having  thus  provided  against  possible  accidents,  he 
descended,  and  returned  to  the  sitting-room. 


100 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THE  CLAM-BAKE. 

If  the  reader  expects  to  find  in  this  chapter  a descrip- 
tion of  a clam-bake,  he  will  be  disappointed.  The 
author  s experiences  in  that  variety  of  picnic  have  led 
him  to  refer  the  pleasure  of  the  occasion  to  anything 
but  the  clams.  There  is  no  intrinsic  delight  in  handling 
hot  shells,  and  pretending  to  find  tough  mollusks  tooth- 
some. What  one  should  do  is,  let  the  clams  serve  their 
purpose  as  the  nominal  excuse  for  the  excursion,  and, 
looking  respectfully  at  them,  seek  one’s  real  enjoyment 
in  other  edibles,  wisely  carried  along,  and  in  the  society 
of  the  ladies.  This  philosophic  use  of  clams  is  not  des- 
picable. It  is  necessary  to  break  down  the  stiffness  of 
etiquette  by  something  more  than  a mere  effort  of  will. 
An  element  of  actual  barbarism  must  be  introduced,  in 
order  to  put  people  as  much  at  their  ease  as  savages  or 
spring  lambs.  Eating  with  the  fingers  is  such  an  ele- 
ment; so  is  sitting  on  the  ground;  so  is  the  effect  of  a 
sudden  shower,  which  wets  people  impartially,  and  abol- 
ishes distinctions  based  on  or  indicated  by  clothing, 
establishing  instead  the  delightful  sense  of  a common 
humidity  and  humanity,  — and  so  are  clams. 

Now,  this  particular  clam-bake  took  place  on  tlie  sliore 
of  the  Sound,  not  far  from  Bayport,  and  was  so  well- 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


101 


arranged  that  the  clams,  having  performed  their  office  of 
making  things  sociable,  gave  way  to  cold  chicken,  hot 
coffee,  and  other  civilized  dishes,  which  were  served  with 
spoons,  forks,  and  napkins,  and  without  ants  and  grass- 
hoppers. Amateur  climbing  on  perfectly  safe  rocks, 
hunting  for  pebbles  and  shells  on  the  shore,  and  cosey 
conversation  in  sheltered  nooks,  looking  out  upon  the 
crested  waves,  then  engaged  and  divided  the  company. 
At  this  point  our  interest  in  the  clam-bake  commences ; 
and  our  attention  is  confined  to  a single  group,  composed 
of  people  we  know,  namely,  Alice  Eussell,  Francis  and 
Isabella  Vane,  and  Alfred  Morton.  The  two  girls, 
looking  sweetly  pretty  in  their  scarlet-trimmed  croquet- 
dresses  and  broad-brimmed  hats,  sat  at  ease  upon  con- 
venient hummocks  of  the  turf,  just  where  it  ended 
towards  the  beach ; and,  at  their  feet,  the  two  gentlemen 
practiced  graceful  ways  of  reclining  on  the  clean,  dry 
sand.  This  reclining,  and  looking  upwards  into  the 
eyes  of  a fair  interlocutor,  promotes  intimacy,  and  is  to 
all  romantic  souls  quite  the  correct  thing,  though  it  is 
very  hard  {crede  experturn)  on  the  elbow  and  the  back 
of  the  neck.  My  dear  child,  if  you  ever  have  been 
offended  to  see  an  admirer,  at  some  interesting  juncture, 
suddenly  forsake  this  touching  attitude,  retract  your 
unjust  censure.  There  was  nothing  the  matter  with  his 
soul ; but  the  going  to  sleep  of  one  arm,  one  leg,  and 
the  whole  cerebellum,  made  him  afraid  of  cerebro-spinal 
meningitis.  You  should  have  borne  with  him ; a brief 
period  of  prickling  vertically  would  have  Restored  his 
circulation,  aroused  his  dormant  affection,  and  made  him 


102 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


ready  to  fling  himself  once  more  at  your  feet.  During 
the  interview  which  I am  about  to  describe,  you  will 
please  to  imagine  Messrs.  Vane  and  Morton  as  getting 
up  to  stretch  themselves  as  often  as  anatomy  requires. 
In  short,  apply  to  them  the  beneficent  motto  of  the 
modern  photographer,  — unknown,  alas  1 to  our  tortured 
parents,  in  the  days  when  they  went  to  be  ''  taken,”  — 
Wink  whenever  necessary ! ” 

It  was  Isabella,  of  course,  who  gushed  most  enthu- 
siastically about  the  sea.  It  was  perfectly  delicious,  she 
said,  to  see  the  rollers  come  in.  It  made  her  think  of 
mermaids  and  the  Gulf  Stream,  and  shipwrecks,  and 
everything.  ''Now,  Frank,”  she  said,  with  sisterly 
dogmatism,  " you  have  had  some  dreadful  adventures  at 
sea.  You  know  you  have.  Tell  us  that  story  you  told 
me  only  the  other  day,  about  the  time  you  ran  ashore 
on  the  north  coast  of  Ireland,  you  know,  — that  place 
with  a long  name.” 

" Ennistrahull,”  said  Frank,  somewhat  sheepishly. 
" Fact  is.  Bell,  I had  to  stuff  you  a little  there.  You 
would  have  it,  you  know,  — said  I never  did  tell  any 
real  adventures,  with  danger  in  ’em ; always  got  out  in 
some  stupid  way  at  the  end.  So  what  could  I do  ? You 
teased  me  awfully.  Can’t  keep  up  that  sort  of  thing, 
though ; it ’s  a big  strain  on  a fellow’s  conscience.” 

" And  you  were  not  shipwrecked  at  Ennistrahull  ? ” 
exclaimed  Isabella,  ready  to  cry  with  vexation. 

"Awful  close  shave,”  replied  imperturbable  Frank; 
"if  we  had  struck,  we’d  have  gone  to  pieces,  sure. 
Bocks  eighty  feet  straight  out  of  water.  But  we  did  n t 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


103 


strike.  Don’t  ask  me.  I was  in  my  berth  at  the  time, 
reading  back  numbers  of  Harper’s  Magazine.  Heard 
some  row  on  deck,  men  pulling  the  main  brace,  or  what- 
ever; ran  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Captain 
pointed  to  this  ugly  black  rock,  looking  over  our  stern. 
' Nasty  place  to  go  ashore,’  says  he ; ' and  we  nearly  did 
it,  what  with  the  tide  and  the  head- wind  and  all ! ’ 
So  I went  back  to  my  berth.” 

Isabella  was  so  indignant  over  this  confession  that 
she  threw  small  stones  at  her  brother  in  a most  be- 
witching manner.  Then,  suddenly  recollecting  that  Mr. 
Alfred  Morton  had  been  something  or  other  in  the 
artillery,  she  turned  two  appealing  eyes  upon  him,  and 
begged  for  a thrilling  reminiscence  of  the  war.  He 
smiled  evasively.  A man  cannot  uncork  his  thrilling 
reminiscences  as  if  they  were  bottles  of  champagne, 
ready  to  bubble  and  froth  at  any  moment.  But  a look 
at  the  shining  waters  seemed  to  suggest  some  past  ex- 
perience to  his  mind;  and  presently  he  said:  ^'My 

most  dramatic  adventure,  I think,  was  afloat,  and  not 
ashore.  The  chances  of  death  in  battle  are  vague; 
they  do  not  seize  the  mind  with  a definite  grasp.  Even 
when  one  is  frightened,  it  is  a panic,  not  a reason- 
able fear ; a sort  of  general  nervous  commotion  or  col- 
lapse. But  once  in  my  life  I was  completely  brought 
face  to  face  with  death,  so  that  I could  perceive  no 
chance  of  escape;  and  then  I learned  the  difference 
between  fear  and  despair.  I don’t  think  I felt  any 
fear ; but  I know  I would  rather  endure  a hundred 
thorough  frights  than  another  half-hour  of  such  calm 
and  hopeless  conviction.” 


104 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


It  was  worthy  of  note  how  differently  Vane  and 
Morton  related  their  personal  experiences.  Neither  of 
them  was  boastful ; but  the  latter  was  professionally  a 
writer;  and,  when  he  began  a story,  he  gave  it  a suitable 
introduction.  Once  well  started,  he  might  have  been 
phonographically  reported  for  a magazine.  The  ''mid- 
night oil  ’’  gradually  saturates  a man,  particularly  when 
it  is  accompanied  with  ink.  It  should  be  said  to  Mor- 
ton s credit,  that  he  never  " took  the  floor,’'  as  Philip 
aptly  described  it, . without  good  occasion  and  strong 
invitation.  Hence  many  of  his  acquaintances  knew 
him  as  a man  inclined  to  silence,  and  brilliant  only  with 
pen  in  hand.  But  now  he  had  a sympathetic  audience, 
and  a stimulating  inward  desire  to  gain  credit  in  the 
eyes  of  at  least  one  of  his  hearers.  As  he  proceeded, 
even  this  was  lost  in  the  rush  of  his  own  memories  and 
the  enthusiasm  of  friendship. 

" At  the  public  school  where  I was  educated,  until  I 
began  special  preparation  for  college,  my  best  friend  was 
a boy  a little  younger  than  myself,  by  the  name  of 
Stephen  Moore.  He  was  undoubtedly  the  brightest  boy 
in  the  school,  — quick  to  learn,  full  of  humor  and  mis- 
chief, a favorite  with  the  teachers,  and  the  recognized 
leader  in  all  out-door  games  and  enterprises.  All  the 
daring  deeds  I performed  in  those  days  were  done  under 
the  inspiration  of  his  encouragement  or  example ; for  I 
had  more  pride  than  courage,  and  I followed  where  I 
would  not  have  led.  I have  learned  since  how  great  is 
the  difference  between  boldly  following  and  boldly  lead- 
ing or  commanding.  The  responsibility  is  more  oppres- 
sive than  the  peril. 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


105 


It  was  a pity  that  Moore,  having  no  living  relative, 
and  no  money  of  his  own,  — he  was  supported  up  to  his 
fourteenth  year  out  of  some  charitable  fund  or  other,  — 
could  not  carry  his  studies  beyond  the  public  school 
course.  He  had  a real  aptitude  for  study,  and,  joined 
with  it,  or  rather  existing  apart  from  it,  as  a separate 
side  of  his  nature,  a love  of  change  and  adventure. 
Either  of  these  tendencies  might  have  become  the  ruling 
one  in  his  life ; circumstances  threw  him  upon  the  latter. 
When  I began  to  prepare  for  college,  my  friend  went 
to  India,  and  I lost  sight  of  him.  But  six  years  after- 
wards, who  should  come  aboard  our  ship  at  Madras, 
bound  for  Singapore,  but  Stephen  Moore,  bronzed  and 
bearded,  yet  as  joyous  and  adventurous  as  ever.’’ 

Madras  and  Singapore,”  cried  Isabella,  interrupting 
the  quiet  flow  of  the  narrative  ; ''how  delightful ! You 
never  went  to  such  romantic  places  as  that,  Frank.  O 
Mr.  Morton,  how  did  you  ever  get  there  ? Madras  is 
where  the  handkerchiefs  come  from,  you  know,  Alice  ! ” 
Miss  Eussell  knew  that,  and  more  ; but  she  said  noth- 
ing, and  Mr.  Morton  continued  : "You  may  imagine 

that  our  meeting  was  a happy  one.  Stephen  had 
seen  all  he  wished  of  the  Indies,  and  was  easily  pur- 
suaded  to  join  me  on  the  voyage  home,  by  way  of 
Singapore.  We  had  a prosperous  passage  through  the 
Straits,  and  arrived  one  evening,  just  as  the  sun  went 
down.  The  ship  was  surrounded  by  a throng  of  boats, 
with  Malay  crews  offering  to  take  us  ashore  ; and  Ste- 
phen and  I,  bewitched  with  the  sight  of  the  land,  were 
eager  to  go.  But  the  captain  said  that  the  harbor  was  full 
5* 


106 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


of  pirates,  that  all  Malays  were  thieves  and  cut-throats 
when  they  got  the  chance,  and  that  nobody  should  leave 
the  ship  that  night.  As  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
however,  we  resolved  to  go  in  spite  of  him ; and,  beck- 
oning one  of  the  boats  under  the  stern,  we  made  our  bar- 
gain, in  signs  and  fragmentary  English,  to  be  carried  to 
the  town.  This  point  being  hastily  settled,  we  dropped 
our  travelling-bags  into  the  boat,  and  speedily  followed 
them  ourselves.  The  Malays  plied  the  oars  vigorously, 
and  a few  strokes  carried  us  out  of  hailing  distance  from 
the  ship.  Moreover,  the  twilight  deepened  with  aston- 
ishing rapidity  into  darkness,  and,  before  five  minutes 
had  passed,  we  were  as  much  alone  as  if  we  had  been  in 
mid-ocean.  ' Steve,'  said  I,  ' I begin  to  wish  we  had  n’t 
started.  I don’t  like  the  looks  of  these  fellows.  They  ’re 
a murderous  lot,  and  they  know  very  well  that  not  a 
soul  on  board  ship  saw  us  leave.  What’s  to  hinder 
them  from  doing  what  they  like,  without  danger  of  dis- 
covery ? They ’ve  got  our  bags  there  in  the  bow,  and  — ” 
' Hush,’  said  he,  hurriedly ; ' that  head  rascal  under- 
stands English.’  ” 

''  At  this  moment  all  further  remarks  were  prevented 
by  the  behavior  of  the  Malays,  who  stopped  rowing,  as 
if  at  a signal,  and  took  in  their  oars,  while  their  leader, 
a swarthy,  stalwart  villain,  rose  and  approached  the 
stern,  where  we  were  seated.  With  a sinister  affecta- 
tion of  humility,  he  s.aid,  in  the  lingo  common  among 
the  sailors  of  the  Archipelago,  that  it  was  very  hard 
work,  and  the  men  must  have  double  pay.  Stephen 
heard  him  silently,  and  left  it  to  me  to  reply.  Kealizing 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


107 


the  hopelessness  of  the  situation,  I answered,  with  an 
indifference  I did  not  feel,  that  it  was  hard  work,  and 
the  men  should  be  paid  double  when  they  brought  us 
safe  to  shore.  But  the  Malay  rejoined  fiercely  that 
they  wanted  their  money  now,  and  advanced,  as  he 
spoke,  a step  nearer  to  us.  The  whnle  crew  arose,  as  if 
to  rush  upon  us  in  a body.  Stephen  started  to  his  feet, 
and  tore  up  a thwart  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting.  I 
followed  his  example,  and  we  stood  there,  brandishing 
our  pieces  of  board,  and  determined  to  sell  our  lives 
dearly.  The  Malays  drew  their  knives,  but  the  fore- 
most of  them  hesitated  to  come  within  reach  of  our 
simple  weapons ; and  the  curses  and  eagerness  of  those 
behind  threw  the  gang  into  some  confusion.  They  knew 
that,  in  a struggle,  a couple  of  them,  at  least,  would  be 
knocked  overboard,  probably  stunned  too  much  to  swim ; 
two  strong  young  fellows  like  us,  though  armed  with 
boards  only,  were  adversaries  not  to  be  despised.  Then 
the  boat  might  be  upset,  and  perhaps  they  were  afraid 
of  sharks ; or  the  noise  of  the  conflict  might  bring  other 
parties  to  the  scene,  and  these  other  parties  might  be 
Malays,  willing  to  gain  a reward  for  revealing  the  crime 
they  had  not  had  the  chance  of  committing.  At  all 
events,  there  was  an  instant,  which  seemed  an  age,  dur- 
ing which  we  glared  at  our  foes  and  they  glared  at  us ; 
and  the  chief  active  occupation  of  all  hands  was  the 
establishment  of  their  equilibrium,  for  the  boat  was 
rocking  violently.  There  was  still  light  enough  to  show 
the  teeth  and  eyeballs  of  the  farthest  man.  Around  us 
the  water  could  be  seen  for  a few  yards,  and  then  the 


108 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


curtain  of  darkness,  through  which  I perceived,  as  the 
last  sign  of  despair,  one  or  two  faint  gleams  from  the  far 
lights  of  Singapore.” 

''  Oh  ! never  mind  that,”  cried  Isabella,  unable  to  wait 
for  the  artistic  development  of  the  story ; do  go  on ! 
Oh  ! did  you  get  away  ? ” 

Of  course  he  did,”  said  Frank  Vane,  more  inter- 
ested than  he  cared  to  betray ; don’t  you  see  him  here  ? 
Harbor-police  came  along  just  in  the  nick  of  time.” 

Alice  said  nothing ; she  saw  that  in  some  way  Morton 
had  escaped,  but  she  thought  with  sickening  apprehen- 
sion of  his  brave  friend,  who  had,  perhaps,  by  some  fear- 
ful, heroic  sacrifice,  saved  him.  Her  expressive  face 
revealed  this  feeling,  and  Alfred  Morton’s  quiet  tones,  as 
he  resumed  his  narrative,  deepened  the  dread  with  which 
she  listened.  For  Morton  took  no  more  notice  of  inter- 
ruptions than  if  he  were  a book,  and  people  had  merely 
stopped  in  reading  him  to  utter  their  exclamations  about 
his  contents. 

It  was  an  awful  pause,”  said  he,  and  my  chief  feel- 
ing, so  far  as  I can  recollect  it,  was  a desire  to  have  it 
over.  A child  could  see  that  there  was  no  hope  of  qui- 
eting those  fellows.  After  showing  their  intention  so 
clearly,  they  would  never  bring  us  to  the  shore  ahve,  to 
become  witnesses  against  them  before  the  British  author- 
ities. There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was  to 
fight,  and  to  die  like  men.  Imagine  my  astonishment 
and  disgust,  therefore,  when  Stephen  Moore,  my  friend, 
my  leader  in  early  boyish  days,  my  model  of  courage 
and  coolness,  spoke,  for  the  first  time  since  the  trouble 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


109 


had  begun,  and  said : ^ It ’s  no  use,  Alf ; I hii  going  to 
give  these  fellows  what  they  want ! ’ 

^ Are  you  crazy,  man  ? ’ said  I ; ' don’t  you  know  that 
they  want  all  you ’ve  got,  and  that  they  will  kill  you 
afterwards,  to  cover  up  the  robbery  ? ’ As  I looked  at 
him  in  my  indignation,  his  eye  avoided  mine.  He  was 
thoroughly  scared.  The  Malays  saw  that  a disagree- 
ment had  arisen  between  us,  and  pressed  forward  with 
curiosity  replacing  for  an  instant  their  savage  hate ; but 
a vigorous  swing  of  my  board  showed  them  the  limit  it 
was  not  safe  to  pass,  and  there  was  another  pause,  dur- 
ing which  I berated  Stephen  with  the  most  stinging 
epithets  I could  command.  I called  him  a dog  and  a 
coward ; I told  him  he  should  n’t  touch  a shilling  of  my 
money  to  pay  these  cut-throats  with,  that  he  might  bear 
the  whole  expense  himself.  In  short,  I got  so  angry  with 
him  that  I forgot,  for  the  time,  the  absolutely  hopeless 
condition  in  which  we  were  placed.  But  Stephen  was 
not  to  be  moved.  He  said  he  should  pay  the  men  what 
they  wanted,  and  take  the  chances.  It  wouldn’t  be 
any  worse,  he  said,  at  any  rate,  than  it  was  already.  In 
vain  I told  him  that  it  would  be  a great  deal  worse  ; 
there  was  a difference  between  dying  bravely  and  dying 
like  a pig,  whether  he  saw  it  or  not.  He  prolonged  the 
discussion  for  several  minutes,  and  at  last  threw  down 
his  board,  and,  addressing  the  ringleader  of  the  villains, 
who  had  been  near  enough  to  overhear  our  dialogue,  he 
said,  ‘ You  understand  English  ; bring  me  my  bag.  ’ 

Several  of  them  must  have  understood  him,  for  there 
was  a rush  after  the  bag.  But  Stephen  called  again  to 


110 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


the  ringleader,  ' Only  yon ; let  the  rest  stay  where  they 
are ; they  will  upset  the  boat.’ 

" Better  upset  the  boat,  and  done  with  it/  I muttered 
savagely;  but  my  taunt  was  ineffectual.  The  Malay 
brought  the  bag,  and  Stephen  Moore  opened  it,  and 
plunged  his  arm  into  it,  rummaging  for  his  money, 
while  the  native  bent  over  him  with  eager  expectation, 
and  I gnashed  my  teeth  in  impotent  rage  and  despair. 
This  pause  was  the  shortest,  and  seemed  the  longest,  of 
all.  I think  it  pained  me  more  to  lose  faith  in  my 
friend  than  to  let  go  my  hope  of  life..  The  disgusting, 
dreadful  scene  swam  before  my  eyes,  when  suddenly, 
as  though  a flash  of  lightning  had  revealed  the  vision  to 
me,  I saw  Stephen,  erect,  blazing  with  wrath  and  scorn 
and  triumph,  a revolver  in  his  hand,  and  the  Malay 
sprawling  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  where  the  revolver, 
dashed  into  his  face  after  the  manner  of  a flst,  had  sent 
him. 

' Pull  for  your  lives,  you  liver-hearted  scoundrels  ! ’ 
shouted  Stephen,  in  the  wild  exultation  of  a Berserker ; 
and  the  command  was  obeyed  with  precipitate  zeal.  In 
one  minute  the  whole  ugly  crowd  was  tugging  at  the 
oars,  while  Stephen  and  I walked  up  and  down,  batting 
their  heads  with  our  boards  to  keep  up  their  enthu- 
siasm.” 

Morton  paused.  He  had  lingered  over  the  progress 
of  his  story;  he  was  too  good  an  artist  to  spoil  the 
climax.  But,  after  a moment’s  silence,  Isabella  Vane 
said  that  was  perfectly  splendid;  and  Frank  added, 
That  Stephen  Moore  must  have  been  a brick.  But  I 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


Ill 


wish  he  had  shot  the  ringleader,  instead  of  just  knocking 
him  down.’' 

I forgot  to  mention,”  said  Morton,  playing  his  trump 
card,  reserved  for  this  contingency,  ''  that  the  revolver  was 
not  loaded!'  To  which  Mr.  Vane,  completely  over- 
whelmed, could  only  remark,  By  Jove  ! ” 

What  did  your  friend  say  to  you  ? ” ejaculated 
Alice. 

''  What  did  I say  to  him  ? I should  think  you  would 
ask,”  replied  Morton.  'Mn  point  of  fact,  however,  it 
was  he  who  spoke  to  me,  though  I owed  him  the  ex- 
planation. J ust  as  I was  about  to  express  my  repent- 
ance and  gratitude,  he  astounded  me  by  the  cool  remark, 
‘ You  are  the  best  hand  in  a scrape,  Alf,  that  I ever  came 
across.  It  is  n’t  every  fellow  that  would  have  seen  my 
little  game  from  the  beginning,  and  played  into  my  hand 
as  you  did.  I was  dreadfully  afraid  you  would  n’t  quar- 
rel, and  I did  n’t  dare  to  give  you  any  hint  while  that 
wretch  was  within  earshot,  and  watching  us  like  a pan- 
ther. But  you  did  it  splendidly,  my  boy ; if  you  had  n’t 
pretended  to  be  mad  about  it,  we  never  could  have  bam- 
boozled these  fellows.’  ” 

Did  n’t  he  know,  then,  that  you  had  been  as  much 
deceived  as  the  rest  ? ” 

At  first  I thought  he  did  not ; but  when  I attempted 
to  explain,  he  avoided  me  so  skillfully,  changing  the  sub- 
ject, and  with  such  a merry  meaning  in  his  eye,  that  I 
suspected  him : and  one  memorable  night,  long  after, 
when  we  lay  together  in  camp  by  the  Eapidan,  — he  a 
second  lieutenant  in  my  regiment,  — w^e  had  a long  talk 


112 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


about  old  times,  and  I made  him  confess  that  he  knew  I 
had  been  completely  deceived  by  his  assumed  cowardice 
in  that  Malay  affair.  At  the  time,  however,  he  would 
not  talk  much  about  it,  and  even  made  me  promise  not 
to  mention  it.  You  could  n’t  make  me  believe  now  that 
Stephen  Moore  could  under  any  circumstances  show  the 
white  feather,  or  turn  his  back  on  a friend.” 

''  You  were  together  in  the  war  ? ” pursued  Alice, 
curious  to  hear  more  of  this  chivalrous  friend. 

Yes ; and  he  saved  me  twice  from  death : once  by 
carrying  me  in  his  strong  arms  from  the  exposed  field 
where  I lay  stunned  by  a fall  from  my  horse ; and  once 
by  a bold  rescue,  when  I had  been  captured  during  a re- 
connoissance  by  a party  of  scouts,  and  was  already  a 
mile  on  the  road  to  the  Libby  prison.” 

How  delightful ! ” cried  Isabella ; tell  us  about  that 
too.” 

^^hTot  to-day,”  said  Morton;  ''it  is  getting  late  al- 
ready.” 

" But  what  became  of  him  ? ” asked  Miss  Stanley, 
fascinated  inexplicably  by  the  character  of  the  unknown 
hero  of  Singapore  and  the  Eapidan. 

" I wish  I knew,”  replied  Mr.  Morton ; " he  was  de- 
tailed on  staff  duty  somewhere  in  the  Southwest ; and  I 
heard  that  he  had  resigned,  rather  than  obey  an  order 
which  he  had  received.  What  was  the  precise  trouble, 
I never  could  find  out ; it  seemed  to  be  connected  with  a 
cotton-stealing  operation,  and  the  officer  in  command 
succeeded  in  hushing  it  up.  I am  sure  Stephen  was  in 
the  right,  and  had  good  reason  for  his  course.  At  all 


THE  CLAM-BAKE. 


113 


events,  lie  went  out  West,  and  I lost  sight  of  him. 
Probably  his  adventurous  spirit  has  led  him  into  many 
a scrape  since  that ; but  he  has  courage  and  ingenuity 
enough  to  pull  him  out  again.’’ 

I ’d  rather  hear  you  tell  about  him  than  see  him 
myself,”  said  Isabella.  '^IsTo  doubt  he  has  become  one  of 
those  horrid  pioneers  that  wear  red  shirts  and  big  boots, 
and  talk  slang,  and  shoot  people.” 

''  I must  confess,”  replied  Morton,  ''  that  there  is  dan- 
ger of  that.  Stephen  had  a way  of  adopting  the  man- 
ners of  his  associates ; drifting,  as  it  were,  with  the 
tide.  But  the  spirit  of  a gentleman  is  in  him,  and  it 
would  take  little  to  transform  him  outwardly.  If  he 
ever  comes  to  Bayport,  you  ’ll  find  him  quite  fit  for  a 
lion.  Miss  Vane.” 

''  How  grand  it  is,”  said  Alice  Stanley,  half  musingly, 
to  have  such  courage  ! ” 

''  Indeed,  you  are  right,”  responded  Morton  with  en- 
thusiasm, ''  if  by  such  courage  you  mean  to  distinguish 
my  friend  from  the  ordinary  run  of  brave  men.  So  far 
as  I have  observed,  courage  usually  consists  in  getting 
used  to  a danger.  Almost  everybody  is  frightened  the 
first  time,  unless  excited  already  by  some  stronger  feel- 
ing. But  habit  deprives  the  peril  of  its  mysterious 
power.  One  of  the  coolest  veterans  in  our  army  is  now 
in  charge  of  a coal-mine  ; and  he  told  me,  not  long  ago, 
that  his  first  trip  down  the  shaft,  on  a cage,  made  him 
tremble  like  a child.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  control 
his  nerves  and  continue  his  underground  journey.  How 
he  feels  safer  below  ground  than  above.  ^ There  are 


H 


114 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


only  two  or  three  things  that  can  happen  to  a fellow 
down  there/  he  says ; ' and  if  they  don't  happen,  yon  he 
all  right.’  ” 

At  this  moment  the  seclusion  of  the  party  was  broken 
by  the  receipt  of  the  information  that  the  clam-bake  was 
over,  — in  other  words,  the  baskets  were  packed,  and  the 
sun  was  setting,  and  the  dew  would  shortly  fall,  and  the 
carriages  were  waiting,  and  ''  Where  have  you  kept  your- 
selves ? We  have  hunted  for  you  everywhere,  and  did  n’t 
know  but  you  had  waded  out  and  got  drowned.”  This 
and  similar  wise  and  witty  observations  were  received 
in  good  part  and  returned  in  kind.  Our  quartette, 
being  people  of  society,  knew  how  to  jump  gracefully 
from  the  grand  serious  into  the  empty  jocose,  and  land 
on  their  feet.  So,  with  laughter  and  chatter,  the  picnic 
party  gathered  itself,  counted  its  noses,  to  make  sure 
that  no  flirting  or  dreaming  absentees  remained  behind, 
counted  its  shawls  and  fans  and  unnecessary  though  in- 
evitable umbrellas,  stowed  itself  away  in  its  several 
barouches  and  dog-carts,  and  sped  merrily  townward 
with  thoughts  intent  on  home  and  rest,  or  hotel  and 
hop,”  according  to  the  engagements  and  temperaments 
of  its  individual  members. 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS. 


115 


CHAPTEE  X. 

COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS. 

The  four  friends  whose  fortunes  concern  us  soon  found 
themselves  again  tete-a-tete  in  the  more  comfortable,  if 
less  romantic,  four  corners  of  their  carriage ; and  Alice 
ventured  upon  the  hazardous  experiment  of  picking  up 
the  thread  of  conversation  broken  and  dropped  by  the 
seaside.  You  were  talking  about  courage,’'  said  she. 

Brother  and  sister  Vane  scarcely  showed  a vivid 
interest  in  this  subject ; but  they  were  too  polite  to  pro- 
test, and  Morton,  whose  ''  blood  was  up,”  plunged  into 
the  theme  anew. 

Yes ; I was  saying  that,  ordinarily,  courage,  or  at  least 
insensibility  to  fear,  is  the  result  of  habit,  and  does  not 
serve  us  in  the  face  of  unaccustomed  danger.  Of  course, 
those  men  who  control  themselves  in  spite  of  their 
bodily  sensations  of  fear,  are  courageous  in  a higher 
sense,  and  deserve  the  greater  praise.  But  I am  not 
speaking  of  the  merit  to  be  ascribed  to  courage,  — only 
of  the  physical  and  mental  quality  itself ; and  it  is,  as 
you  remarked,  a grand  thing  when  a man  has  always  full 
command  of  himself,  body  and  soul ; when  nothing  par- 
alyzes him,  nothing  in  him  needs  to  be  conquered 
before  he  can  act  boldly  and  calmly.  Such  courage  is 
only  a means  to  an  end ; but  if  the  end  is  heroic,  the 


116 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


means  become  sublime.  And  I never  knew  anybody 
who  was  so  truly,  invariably,  wisely  courageous  as 
Stephen  Moore.  Desperation  is  the  mood  that  lifts 
most  of  us  up  to  that  level.  We  shut  our  eyes  to  odds 
and  obstacles,  and  do  with  a rush  great  things  or  foolish 
things,  as  circumstances,  not  we,  decide.’’ 

Eeminds  me  of  my  yellow  dog,”  interrupted  Frank, 
bound  to  enliven  the  monologue.  ''Bought  a yellow 
dog  once,  — you  remember  him.  Bell,  — just  on  account 
of  his  cowardice.  Never  saw  such  a dog  before  or  since; 
big,  ugly  mongrel,  with  nothing  remarkable  about  him 
except  that  one  virtue.  He  would  run  from  any  other 
dog,  no  matter  how  small.  Actually  seemed  to  live  in 
fear  of  his  life  all  the  time.  Used  to  go  out  of  the 
house  in  the  morning  by  the  back  way,  and  sneak  along 
the  shady  side  of  the  road  to  the  butcher’s,  where  he 
got  his  breakfast.  Eat ! by  Jove,  how  he  could  eat ! — 
raw  beef  enough  to  satisfy  an  anaconda,  or  whatever. 
But  it  didn’t  affect  his  character.  Fellows  used  to  come 
and  want  to  see  him,  and  bet  hats  they  had  dogs  that 
would  run  away  from  him ; but  when  they  brought  their 
lapdogs  and  lady’s  dogs  and  King  Charleses,  and  what- 
ever, no  matter  how  cowardly  their  dogs  were,  the  min- 
ute they  set  eyes  on  mine  and  saw  how  frightened  he 
was,  they  would  get  very  bold  all  of  a sudden  and 
bark,  and  away  he  would  go,  with  his  tail  between  his 
legs,  and  would  not  be  seen  again  until  he  crept  home 
after  dark.  Called  him  Victor,  and  had  no  end  of 
pride  in  him. 

"Well,  one  day  Victor  started  as  usual  for  the  butch- 


COURAGE,  AND  OTPIER  MATTERS.  117 

er's  shop,  and  just  as  he  got  along  in  front  of  the  Camp- 
hells’,  out  comes  Katy  Campbell’s  little  silky  pup, — 
with  a blue  ribbon  on  him,  you  know,  Bell,  — and  races 
down  the  lawn  to  the  front  fence,  with  a ' rrrow-ow-owl 
as  if  he  were  leading  a charge  of  six  hundred  pups.” 
'^For  shame,  Frank!”  cried  Isabella.  ''You  shall 
not  make  fun  of  that  splendid  Light  Brigade.  ' Cannon 
to  right  of  them,  cannon  to  left  of  them  — ’ ” 

"Yes,  I know,”  impatiently  responded  her  brother, 
" blundered  and  thundered  and  wondered  and  whatever, 
— all  the  bad  rhymes  in  the  dictionary.” 

" Don’t  be  too  sure  about  the  badness  of  the  rhymes,” 
interposed  Morton.  "There  is  ancient  authority  for 
hunderd,  — old  Saxon  hunderod,  German  hunderty  old 
colloquial  English  — ” 

" Will  you  let  me  tell  my  story ! ” roared  Frank,  with 
affected  anger.  " You  need  n’t  fling  all  the  languages  at 
my  dog.  As  I was  saying,  when  thus  rudely  inter- 
rupted, Katy  Campbell’s  poodle,  or  whatever,  runs  down 
to  the  gate  like  mad,  and  Victor  puts  his  tail  between 
his  legs  and  straightens  out  his  back,  and  away  he  goes 
as  if  the  — Light  Brigade  was  after  him.  Stood  on  the 
doorstep  and  saw  it  myself  Saw  Katy  Campbell,  too, 
laughing  out  of  her  window.  Prettiest  little  girl  in 
town ; used  to  be  spooney  on  her  myself  in  those  days. 
Gave  her  that  blue  ribbon  for  the  poodle.  Got  a lock 
of  her  hair  somewhere.” 

Frank  paused  a moment  to  do  justice  to  these  tender 
memories ; and  Isabella  saw  her  chance. 

"Well,  as  you  were  saying  when  thus  rudely  inter- 
rupted — ” 


118 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Thank  you,  my  dear ; I believe  I fainted  away. 
Where,  0,  where  am  I ? Ah  ! — as  I was  saying,  her 
dog  barked  at  my  dog,  and  my  dog  ran  for  the  next  cor- 
ner to  escape  the  horrid  recollection.  I think  I see  her 
now,  clapping  her  hands  and  crying  ' Sti-boy  ! ’ ’’ 

What,  the  dog  ? Come,  now  ! ’’  pursued  mischiev- 
ous Isabella. 

^^Let  me  alone.  Bell;  you  spoil  my  story.  Victor 
turned  the  corner,  half  dead,  apparently,  with  running 
and  with  fright,  and  out  comes  Captain  Eussells  mas- 
tiff, — old  Ironsides,  you  know.  Miss  Alice,  — right  in 
the  road,  ' bow-oiu-ow  ’ \ I thought  that  would  finish 
Victor;  but,  by  Jove ! he  was  so  scared  about  the  little 
dog  that  he  went  straight  for  the  big  one ; and  in  two 
minutes  old  Ironsides  went  back  to  the  house  in  a hurry, 
handsomely  whipped,  and  the  most  surprised  animal  you 
ever  saw.  Funniest  thing  in  the  world ! and  the  fun- 
niest part  of  it  was  that  my  Victor  was  a different  crea- 
ture from  that  minute,  — the  most  impudent,  outrageous 
cur  in  town.  Could  n’t  be  satisfied  without  a fighting 
tour  every  morning.  Used  to  whip  all  the  dogs  in  the 
neighborhood  before  breakfast.  The  beast  was  perfectly 
spoiled ; lost  his  only  remarkable  quality ; and  I had  to 
give  him  away,  though  I would  n’t  have  taken  a hun- 
dred dollars  for  him  before  that  day.’" 

All  laughed  heartily  at  the  sincerely  mournful  tone  in 
which  Frank  described  this  case  of  canine  degeneracy ; 
and  then  Alice,  recurring  to  his  mention  of  the  Camp- 
bells, asked  what  had  become  of  them.  ''  I have  heard 
so  much  about  Katherine  Campbell,”  she  said,  “ but  I 
never  saw  her.” 


COUKAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS. 


119 


^'They  came  and  went/’  said  Frank,  ''while  you  were 
away  at  school.  Strange  affair,  their  going  away. 
Campbell  was  cashier  of  the  Bayport  Bank,  and  father 
was  president;  so  he  knew  a good  deal  about  it. 
Father  says  he  would  have  trusted  Campbell  to  any  ex- 
tent, — a quiet,  gentle  sort  of  a man,  fond  of  music  and 
his  daughter,  and  that  sort  of  thing ; wife  dead ; no  ex- 
travagant habits ; pretty  little  property  of  his  own ; no 
need  of  money,  so  far  as  anybody  could  see.  As  for 
Kate,  she  was  fifteen  years  old  when  they  came  here, 
and  so  about  twenty  when  they  left.  They  said  her 
father  educated  her  himself  I know  he  used  to  spend 
all  his  time,  out  of  bank  hours,  reading  and  walking  and 
practicing  music  with  her;  and  she  took  the  lead  in 
Bayport,  I tell  you,  — Miss  EusseU  not  having  yet  re- 
turned from  school.” 

For  this  half-mocking,  all-earnest  compliment,  Alice, 
who  sat  opposite  the  speaker,  paid  him  with  a clever 
imitation  of  an  affected  simper,  and  a " Why,  Mr.  Vane ; 
how  you  talk  ! ” Frank  realized  with  uncomfortable 
distinctness  that  he  had  blundered  in  saying  lightly 
what  he  secretly  desired  to  express  in  all  sincerity. 
Badinage  is  well  enough  with  all  women  but  one.  If 
you  offer  her  a mere  compliment,  and  she  takes  it  as  a 
joke,  you  have  lost  your  standing-ground.  I mean,  of 
course,  unless  she  is  in  love  with  you  already, — in  which 
case  all  signs  fail,  and  no  one  can  tell  what  she  will  do ; 
but,  whatever  she  does,  it  will  come  right  at  last.  There 
is  no  art  in  the  mutual-love  business ; the  art  is  in  win- 
ning affection.  All  this  Frank  Vane  had  pondered  ; but. 


120 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


unskilled  in  appearing  what  he  was  not,  he  was  forever 
dropping  into  his  careless,  easy  way,  that  pleased  most 
young  ladies,  — and  unfortunately  did  not  please  Alice. 

''  It  is  strange  that  I did  not  meet  her  sometimes,  I 
was  here  so  often  in  my  vacations.’’ 

Yes ; but  your  vacations  came  at  the  same  time 
with  the  cashier’s  vacations,  when  he  used  to  take  her 
off  travelling.” 

“ I knew  her  a little,”  said  Isabella.  ''  She  was  a 
queer  girl,  — pretty  enough,  I suppose.  The  gentlemen 
were  wild  about  her,  though  she  never  seemed  to  care 
about  them.  That ’s  always  the  way.  But,  to  do  her 
justice,  I don’t  believe  she  put  on  any  such  airs.  I 
couldn’t  have  endured  her,  if  she  had.  No;  she  was 
just  the  same  among  us  girls  ; always  saying  odd 
things,  which  she  got  out  of  books,  I suppose,  — and 
just  devoted  to  her  father.  She  was  lively,  too ; dread- 
fully quick,  sometimes,  in  her  answers ; but  you  never 
could  be  sure  she  would  n’t  turn  a joke  into  earnest,  or 
earnest  into  a joke.  I told  her  once  that  I thought  she 
must  be  two  people  in  one,  and  she  flashed  out  on  me 
with  a laugh,  and  said,  ^ Two  sides  of  one  soul,  my  dear ; 
and  you  can’t  understand  either  of  them.  Don’t  bother 
yourself  with  both!’  She  was  like  that  to  everybody 
except  her  father.  I think,  Mr.  Morton,  she  would  have 
suited  your  hero,  Stephen  What-’s-his-name.  He  would 
have  the  courage,  you  know,  to  get  along  with  her 
moods.” 

Frank  Yane  burned  to  enter  the  lists  against  his  sister, 
and  combat,  in  some  points  at  least,  what  he  thought  an 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS. 


121 


unjust  and  disparaging  criticism.  But  lie  did  not  care 
to  expose  the  details  of  his  boyish  dream  of  love,  still 
less  its  rude  termination.  The  truth  was,  that  wlien 
Miss  Campbell  first  blossomed  upon  the  atmosphere  of 
Bayport,  he  had  fallen  madly  in  love  with  her,  and  there 
had  been  a period  of  bliss,  during  which  he  experienced 
the  unutterable  emotions  which  bold  sixteen  is  prone  to 
entertain  concerning  fair  fifteen.  The  lock  of  hair  he 
affectionately  stole,  soothing  his  conscience  with  the  blue 
ribbon  given  to  the  unconscious  loser  through  the  vica- 
rious poodle.  And,  alas ! the  further  truth  was  that  upon 
attempting,  with  timid  temerity,  to  kiss  Miss  Campbell 
at  the  gate,  he  received  not  a box  on  the  ear,  not  even  a 
'Halking-to  ; but  she  just  drew  herself  up,  and  looked 
at  him  like  — like  an  awfully  angry  and  astonished  an- 
gel, and  walked  into  the  house,  leaving  him  there,  dizzy 
and  red  and  ashamed,  to  be  seen  by  the  stars.  It  made 
him  uncomfortable  still  to  recall  that  dreadful  moment. 
I suppose  there  are  occasions  in  all  our  lives,  the  recol- 
lection of  which  is  a perennial  agony,  — times  when  we 
made  ourselves  supremely  ridiculous;  and  this  is  one 
leading  variety  of  them.  For,  by  as  much  as  the  bliss- 
ful moment  of  young  love’s  first  kiss  is  a joy  forever, 
the  memory  of  which  has  power  to  stir  the  blood  of  age, 
by  so  much  is  the  puny  and  ineffectual  attempt  of  young 
love  in  that  direction, — but  why  prolong  these  harrow- 
ing reflections  ? Frank  Vane  felt  that  the  less  he  said 
about  Katherine  Campbell  in  the  way  of  personal  remi- 
niscence, the  better  it  would  be  for  his  peace  of  mind. 
True,  she  had  never  made  allusion  afterwards  to  the 


122 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


scene  or  the  subject  of  his  discomfiture ; on  the  contrary, 
she  had  met  him  serenely  and  cordially,  and  for  several 
years  they  had  been  excellent  friends,  but  nothing 
more.”  True,  again,  he  had  ceased  to  cherish  any  con- 
suming passion ; the  flame  had  gone  out  under  the  first 
bucketful  of  water  thrown  upon  it.  True,  finally,  he 
was  now,  or  fancied  he  was,  in  love  with  Alice  Eussell ; 
and  would  continue  steadfastly  thus  until  he  had  ''  put 
his  fortune  to  the  test,  to  win  or  lose  it  all,”  after  which, 
in  case  of  defeat,  he  would  not  by  any  means  be  at  the 
end  of  enjoyment  or  of  activity.  But  a fellow  don’t 
care  to  have  his  memory hanging  about  the  neck  of  his 
heart  ” at  all  times ; so  Frank  turned  the  conversation 
back  from  Kate  to  the  story  of  her  father. 

You  were  asking,”  said  he,  what  became  of  them. 
I don’t  think  anybody  knows.  You  see  there  was  a row 
in  the  bank  one  day,  — a forged  check,  in  fact,  — and  a 
young  fellow  named  Charley  Green  found  it  out.  He 
was  a clerk  in  the  bank,  and  had  the  paying  teller’s 
place  for  that  day,  because  the  teller  was  away ; so  he 
paid  this  check,  — ten  thousand  dollars,  it  was.  And 
Green  said  he  handed  the  money  over  in  fifties  to  a man 
he  had  seen  the  day  before  in  the  cashier’s  room  with 
Mr.  Campbell ; so  he  thought  it  was  all  right.  But  along 
about  noon,  when  Campbell  was  gone  to  lunch,  it  struck 
him  that  it  was  n’t  all  right ; so  he  comes  into  the  cash- 
ier’s room,  where  my  father  had  his  desk  too,  and  shows 
him  the  check,  and  tells  him  the  story.  'Konsense,’ 
says  my  father, ' the  check ’s  good  enough ; send  it  round 
to  the  signer,  and  he  ’ll  tell  you  so.’  But  in  ten  minutes 


COUKAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS.  123 

back  comes  the  messenger  and  says  the  check  is  a for- 
gery. That  put  a different  face  on  the  matter.  ' What 
made  you  suspect  it  ? ’ says  my  father  sharply  to  Charley 
Green.  ' Because/  says  Green,  ' it ’s  not  written  on  the 
same  blank  as  Johnson’s  checks  in  general.  I paid  a 
genuine  one  just  now,  and  that  set  me  thinking.  This 
blank,  sir,  is  like  the  loose  ones  on  the  cashiers 
desk/ 

So  they  looked  on  the  cashier’s  desk,  and  there  were 
no  blanks  to  be  found.  " Locked  up  in  his  drawer,’  said 
my  father,  not  suspecting  anything ; ' and  very  properly. 
Mr.  Campbell  is  more  careful  than  the  rest  of  us.  But 
we  must  catch  the  fellow  that  got  this  money.  He  must 
be  a fool ; he  can’t  get  away  from  town  by  rail  for  an 
hour  yet,  nor  by  boat  until  late  to-night.  You  will  know 
him  if  you  see  him  again.  You  say  you  paid  in  fifties  ? ’ 
' Yes,  sir/  says  Green ; ' in  the  new  legal  tenders  just 
come  from  Washington,  numbered  from  13,121  up.’  My 
father  told  me  the  story  so  many  times  that  I remember 
even  the  number.  In  fact,  the  governor  could  n’t  get  it 
out  of  his  head. 

''Well,  just  then  in  comes  Campbell;  and  my  father 
puts  it  to  him,  rather  angrily : ' Here ’s  a pretty  business, 
Mr.  Campbell ; somebody  that  was  here  with  you  yes- 
terday has  swindled  us  out  of  ten  thousand  dollars.’ 
He  looked  awfully  surprised  when  he  saw  the  check; 
took  it  in  his  fingers,  and  turned  it  over  in  a feeble  way ; 
glanced  up  at  my  father,  and  said  faintly,  ' That ’s  one 
of  our  own  blanks  W 

" The  governor  was  so  struck  with  his  appearance 


124 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


as  to  suspect  something,  in  spite  of  himself.  But  he 
could  n’t  believe  that  Campbell  knew  anything  about 
the  check.  However,  he  turned  suddenly  on  Charley 
Green,  and  ordered  him  out  of  the  room.  ' Don’t  stand 
here  doing  nothing,  Mr.  Green;  but  go  to  the  police- 
office  and  the  railroad  and  steamboat  stations,  and  do 
what  you  can  to  repair  the  consequences  of  your 
blunder.  No  matter  who  forged  this  check ; it  was  you 
that  accepted  it.’ 

Green  went  off,  cool  enough;  he  was  the  coolest 
fellow  you  ever  saw.  Meanwhile  Campbell  was  looking 
nervously  about  on  his  desk.  M — I can’t  find  those 
blanks,’  said  he.  ' You  have  probably  locked  them  up 
in  your  drawer,’  said  my  father;  'don’t  get  worried 
about  it.  Open  the  drawer,  and  you  ’ll  find  them.  But 
they  ’re  no  use,  anyhow.’  The  cashier  fumbled  in  his 
pockets.  ' I must  have  mislaid  the  key,’  said  he,  in  con- 
siderable agitation ; ' I ’ll  look  in  my  overcoat  pocket.’ 
He  started  for  the  closet;  and  while  his  back  was 
turned,  my  father  took  a sudden  notion  to  try  his  own 
key.  He  always  said  he  had  no  special  motive.  He 
was  only  uneasy,  and  anxious  to  do  something.  Be- 
sides, nothing  more  natural,  you  know ; whenever  a key 
is  lost,  and  a trunk,  or  whatever,  wants  to  be  opened, 
ever^  fellow ’s  sure  to  pull  out  his  keys,  and  try  every 
one  of  ’em,  if  it ’s  nothing  but  a watch-key.  So  he  took 
the  key  out  of  his  own  desk,  and  tried  it  on  the  other. 
Bitted  first-rate;  drawer  opened, — and  there  lay  a pile 
of  new  fifties ; and  he  saw  in  a minute  that  the  number 
on  the  top  bill  was  13,121.  It  made  him  sick. 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS.  125 

''While  he  stood  looking  at  them,  as  if  they  were 
ghosts,  poor  Campbell  came  back  from  the  closet ; and 
when  he  laid  eyes  on  the  bills,  he  threw  up  his  hands,  and 
fainted  dead  away.  My  father  caught  him  in  his  arms, 
laid  him  on  a sofa,  and  locked  the  door.  Did  n’t  try  to 
bring  him  to ; fact  is,  the  governor  was  so  flustered,  he 
was  glad  of  five  minutes  to  think.  Could  n’t  well  doubt 
the  man  was  guilty.  There  was  the  money.  He  picked 
up  the  notes,  and  run  ’em  over  with  his  hand  mechani- 
cally. One  of  these  old  bank  officers,  that  has  worked 
his  way  up  from  a clerk,  can’t  see  a pile  of  notes  with- 
out itching  to  count  ’em  and  straighten  ’em  out.  But 
he  was  a good  deal  startled  to  find  there  were  only  a 
hundred  of  ’em.  Five  thousand  dollars^  — only  half  the 
check.  Must  inquire  after  the  rest,  you  know,  for  the 
interest  of  the  bank.  If  he  could  get  all  the  money 
back,  he  thought  he  would  n’t  be  hard  on  Campbell. 
Perhaps  he  had  n’t  done  it,  after  all,  though  the  cir- 
cumstances and  his  behavior  were  awfully  against  him. 
Pretty  soon  he  sat  up,  and  looked  around  in  a frightened 
way  till  he  met  the  governor’s  eye.  Then  it  all  came 
back  to  him ; and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  gave 
a groan.  He  was  regularly  used  up,  and  no  mistake,  — 
not  a bit  of  spirit  left  in  him. 

"Well,  my  father  told  him  it  was  a sad  business. 
Here  was  half  the  money,  in  the  very  bills  paid  out  that 
morning.  The  matter  required  explanation,  and  Mr. 
Campbell’s  position  and  character  — no,  reputation  — 
entitled  him  to  every  opportunity  to  explain  it  before 
any  public  exposure  was  made.  Of  course,  the  directors 


126 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


could  not  compound  a felony ; but,  upon  restitution  of 
the  amount  lost,  they  would,  no  doubt,  be  inclined  to 
believe  any  justification  or  excuse  consistent  with  the 
extraordinary  facts.  The  governor  says  he  never  pitied 
a man  so  in  his  life.  Poor  fellow ! he  only  raised  his 
head  once,  as  if  to  speak ; but  he  could  n’t  get  out  any- 
thing but ' Oh,  my  daughter  ! ’ and  the  best  thing  was  to 
tell  him  not  to  answer  a word  then,  but  go  home  and 
think  it  over.  At  that  he  got  up,  and  staggered  to  the 
closet  for  his  hat  and  coat.  White  as  a sheet,  — only 
spoke  once,  — ' Think  it  over ! ’ says  he.  ‘ It  will  kill  me. 
It  will  kill  Kate  and  me.  Explanation ! My  God ! I 
have  n’t  got  any  explanation ! ’ So  he  opened  the  door, 
and  tottered  away.  He  always  had  a quiet,  stooping 
kind  of  walk ; but  this  time  he  looked  a hundred  years 
old. 

Next  morning  he  did  n’t  come  to  the  bank,  and  my 
father  was  a little  afraid  he  had  let  the  man  off  too  easy. 
Ought  to  have  kept  him  at  the  bank,  or  had  him 
watched.  By  Jove  ! when  they  sent  to  his  house,  he 
was  gone,  and  Kate  too,  and  nobody  has  heard  of  them 
since.  There  was  an  envelope  left  with  the  servant, 
addressed  to  my  father.  Nothing  in  it  but  a deed  of 
the  house  and  lot,  made  over  to  the  bank.  The  next 
neighbor  said  he  had  called  there  in  the  evening,  and 
Campbell  got  him  to  witness  his  signature.  The  other 
witness  was  the  milkman.  Neither  of  ’em  saw  the  con- 
tents of  it ; neither  of  ’em  saw  Kate ; both  of  ’em  noticed 
that  Campbell  was  ill,  — had  a headache,  he  said,  — and 
sent  ’em  off  as  soon  as  he  could.  The  property  netted 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS.  127 

the  bank  six  thousand  dollars,  — my  governor  bought  it, 
in  fact,  to  hold  it  in  trust,  as  he  said,  till  the  truth  came 
out,  — and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  affair  was 
talked  about  in  town,  but  the  facts  were  not  very  well 
known ; and  most  people  believed  that  Andrew  Camp- 
bell was  innocent.  Of  course,  the  directors  knew  better, 
or  thought  they  did.  But  my  father  had  his  doubts, 
and,  on  the  whole,  he  took  Campbell’s  side,  to  the  day 
of  his  death.  Many  a time  he  went  over  the  story  to 
me,  and  said  there  was  some  mystery  in  it  that  he 
could  n’t  make  out.  And,  strange  enough,  another  man 
who  always  stood  up  for  Campbell  was  Johnson,  whose 
name  was  forged.  He  was  agent  for  some  county  or 
other,  getting  recruits  to  fill  up  the  county  quota ; and 
the  money  was  for  bounties.  Mighty  keen  man,  John- 
son ; and,  after  the  matter  had  quieted  down,  he  went  to 
my  father,  and  got  him  to  give  up  the  check.  ' I ’m 
going  off  West,’  says  he;  'and  some  of  these  days  I may 
get  at  the  truth  of  this  affair.’  So  away  he  went,  and 
nobody  has  heard  of  him ; and  in  a month  or  two 
Charley  Green  went  West,  and  nobody  has  heard  of 
him ; and  father  died  without  being  any  wiser  on  the 
question ; and  I ’m  a director  in  the  bank  now,  and  %oe 
are  no  wiser.  It ’s  certainly  a strange  story,  and,  for 
my  part,  I incline,  and  always  inclined,  to  believe 
Andrew  Campbell  was  innocent  of  the  forgery.  I could 
pick  a hundred  flaws  in  the  circumstantial  evidence,  — 
except  as  to  Campbell’s  behavior.  If  he  was  not  guilty, 
why  did  he  faint  first,  and  then  make  restitution  and 
run  away  ? ” 


128 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


''I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  yon/'  said  Morton, 
''  that  the  man  was  innocent.  The  fact  that  the  accusa- 
tion overwhelmed  him  proves  nothing ; and  his  restitu- 
tion should  have  shown  everybody  that  he  was  not  a 
criminal.  If  he  had  been  guilty,  he  would  have  taken 
the  first  opportunity  to  get  away  with  his  plunder.  He 
would  have  transferred  his  house  long  beforehand  to 
another  owner,  to  secure  it  against  legal  proceedings. 
As  for  his  behavior,  it  is  merely  an  instance  of  a familiar 
thing,  — the  lack  of  presence  of  mind,  — cowardice,  if 
you  will;  a state  of  the  soul  corresponding  to  the 
physical  paralysis  that  sometimes  overwhelms  men  on 
the  edge  of  precipices,  though  their  footing  may  be  per- 
fectly secure  if  they  only  keep  cool.  It  is  not  the 
degree  of  danger  that  terrifies  them,  but  the  greatness 
of  the  catastrophe  in  case  the  worst  should  happen. 
And  this  mental  dizziness,  or  collapse,  may  occur  in  per- 
sons capable  of  great  bravery  in  other  respects  or  at 
other  times.  I recollect  the  case  of  a young  fellow,  a 
lieutenant,  tried  by  a court-martial  for  cowardice  in 
battle.  I was  judge-advocate,  and,  of  course,  bound  to 
regard  the  rights  of  the  prisoner  as  well  as  the  case 
against  him.  A judge-advocate,  you  know,  is  not  a 
mere  prosecuting  attorney,  anxious  to  win  a reputation 
for  convicting  everybody  who  is  indicted.  Well,  I 
found  that  the  whole  matter  turned  on  a misconception, 
and  that  up  to  the  time  when  the  prisoner  was  found 
out  of  his  proper  place  by  his  superior  officer,  and 
peremptorily  put  under  arrest,  he  had  really  behaved 
with  great  gallantry.  Indeed,  at  the  very  time  when 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS. 


129 


the  colonel  arrested  him,  the  brigade-commander  had 
just  made  a note  of  liis  name,  to  give  him  special 
mention  in  his  despatches.  But  he  was  so  crushed  by 
the  accusation  and  the  disgrace  attached  to  the  mere 
fact  of  a trial,  that  he  behaved,  up  to  the  moment  of  his 
unanimous  acquittal  by  the  court,  like  a conscious 
criminal,  — to  judge  by  ordinary  indications.  He  had 
nothing  to  say  for  himself,  wished  he  were  dead,  and  so 
on ; and  I had  a good  deal  of  trouble  in  working  up  the 
case.  Fortunately,  the  evidence  was  so  clear  that  his 
vindication  was  absolutely  complete,  in  spite  of  him. 
It  was  a lesson  to  me  not  to  judge  a man’s  guilt  by  his 
nerves.” 

''  Oh,  I Tiojpe  Mr.  Campbell  was  innocent ! ” said  Isa- 
bella. Of  course,  it  will  all  come  out,  some  day.  Such 
things  always  do,  you  know  ; and  how  romantic  !” 

Seems  to  me,”  remarked  Frank  Vane,  taking  the 
other  side  of  the  argument  by  that  mysterious  instinct 
without  which  there  would  be  no  discussion,  and  so, 
doubtless,  no  progress,  ''  that  you  get  over  his  giving  up 
the  house  too  easily.  He  was  n’t  in  such  a panic  that 
he  could  n’t  make  out  the  papers  all  right ; and  the  wit- 
nesses suspected  nothing  worse  than  a headache.” 

You  would  n’t  make  him  out  guilty  because  he 
was  n’t  suspected,  — would  you  ? ” replied  Morton,  smil- 
ing. I suppose  he  brooded  over  the  thought  of  a trial, 
and  felt  that  he  had  no  sufficient  defence.  Since  he  could 
not  explain  to  himself  the  fatal  riddle  of  the  circum- 
stances, how  could  he  expect  to  explain  it  to  the  satis- 
faction of  others  ? If  that  is  the  case,  it  seems  natural 


130 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


enough  to  me  that,  after  choosing  his  course  weakly,  he 
should  pursue  it  with  considerable  courage.  Your  dog 
ran  away  from  the  poodle,  you  know,  to  fight  the  mas- 
tiff." 

Alice  spoke  out  of  a half-revery,  in  which  the  con- 
versation had  mingled  with  her  own  refiections.  ''I 
think,"  said  she,  ''  there  is  nothing  but  faith  can  give 
calmness  under  such  a stress.  Faith  would  do  it,  — I 
mean  faith  in  God  and  in  the  power  of  innocence." 

Campbell  appears  to  have  lacked  both,"  replied  Mor- 
ton, gravely.  Perhaps  either  would  have  sufficed  for 
his  case,  which  may  not  have  been  so  desperate,  after 
all.  But  there  are  cases  in  which  faith  in  God  only  can 
sustain  men ; when  innocence  is  overwhelmed  and  swept 
away  like  straw,  and  afflictions  come  blow  upon  blow, 
seeking  the  wrong  victims,  confounding  our  notions  of 
moral  cause  and  effect ; when  the  earth  is  iron  and  the 
heavens  are  brass,  — no  deliverance  anywhere,  even  for 
the  righteous,  — the  times  that  try  men’s  souls  to  the 
bottom.  Ordinarily  our  faith  is  a good  deal  like  Jacob’s 
bargain  : if  God  will  give  us  bread  to  eat,  and  raiment 
to  put  on,  and  keep  us  in  our  ways,  then  shall  the  Lord 
be  our  God.  But  the  “ three  holy  children  ’’  that  stood 
before  Nebuchadnezzar  struck  a sublimer  tone.  ''  Our 
God  is  able  to  deliver,  and  will  deliver,  we  trust ; hit  if 
not,  be  it  known  unto  thee  that  we  will  not  worship  thy 
gods ! " 

always  thought  the  faith  of  the  martyrs  was  a 
meek  and  resigned  sort  of  feeling,"  said  Isabella.  ''  I 
did  n’t  suppose  that  martyrs  tried  to  help  themselves 
at  all." 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS.  131 

The  faith  of  martyrs  is  the  faith  of  heroes  too,” 
replied  Morton  ; no  doubt,  if  Shadrach  and  the  rest  had 
seen  a chance  of  honorable  resistance  or  escape,  they 
would  have  seized  it.  The  root  of  the  feeling  is  a sense 
of  duty.  I have  seen  it  in  soldiers,  who  stood  at  their 
posts,  knowing  that  they  were  sacrificed,  and  not  know- 
ing why.” 

' Theirs  but  to  do  or  die,’  ” murmured  Isabella,  ready 
with  her  poetry,  and  glad  of  a chance  to  serve  her 
brother  with  a neat  thrust  of  Tennyson.  Frank  replied 
with  a sniff  and  a yawn,  ingeniously  signifying  both 
contempt  and  weariness ; and  intensified  the  fraternal 
retort  by  saying,  Go  on,  Morton ; I don’t  mean  you!' 

''  I will  stop  the  preaching  right  here,”  replied  Morton ; 
these  topics  can  wait ; and  I was  near  forgetting  some 
things  I wanted  to  ask  about  Campbell’s  case.  It  occurs 
to  me  that,  if  he  was  innocent,  some  one  else  was  guilty ; 
and  perhaps  his  strange  behavior  w^as  partly  caused  by 
other  machinations,  of  which  we  know  nothing.  A cal- 
culating villain  might  take  advantage  of  his  first  bewil- 
dered panic,  and  persuade  him  to  fly.  What  became  of 
that  Charley  Green  ? ” 

J ust  what  I ’d  like  to  know,”  said  Frank.  He 
staid  a month  or  two  in  the  bank  after  this  affair ; but 
the  directors  were  rather  down  on  him,  — said  he  had  no 
business  to  pay  money  on  such  a clumsy  forgery ; and, 
besides,  it  turned  out  that  he  had  notified  the  railroad 
people,  but  not  the  steamboat  people,  that  afternoon ; so 
Campbell  got  away  by  boat  without  any  trouble.  If 
he  had  n’t  left  that  deed  of  his  house,  you  see,  there 


132 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


would  have  been  a heavy  loss,  — heavy  for  the  bank  at 
that  time.  We  would  n’t  mind  five  thousand  now.  But 
it  would  have  been  troublesome  for  Green ; and  it 
was  n’t  over-pleasant  as  things  did  go.  His  cool  way 
made  matters  worse  ; and  one  day  Captain  Eussell  blew 
out  on  him  for  something,  and  said  to  him,  ' How  do  we 
know,  sir,  but  you  were  the  accomplice  of  Mr.  Campbell 
in  the  whole  business  ? ’ Green  gave  him  a bow  and 
walked  off,  and  the  next  day  sent  in  his  resignation. 
The  Captain  made  him  a sort  of  apology,  but  the  board 
accepted  the  resignation,  and  he  left  town  a week  after.” 
“ One  more  question,”  continued  Morton.  ''  Were 
any  of  the  missing  bills  afterwards  discovered  ? ” 

No  ; we  kept  a sharp  lookout  for  a year  or  so  ; but  I 
suppose  no  one  has  thought  of  it  lately.  Handle  so 
many  notes  every  day,  you  know,  and  never  stop  to 
look  at  the  numbers.  Got  a fifty  from  the  bank  only 
yesterday.”  He  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and  ex- 
tracted the  bill  from  a stratified  mass  of  paper-money 
with  that  skillful  jerk  which  betokens  the  expert. 

This  was  done  merely  for  an  appropriate  gesture,  pre- 
cisely as  every  clergyman,  when  he  enters  upon  Paley’s 
celebrated  ''  argument  of  design,”  pulls  out  his  watch  * 
and  holds  it  in  his  hand  to  emphasize  the  hypothesis, 
Suppose  an  untutored  savage,  roaming  in  his  native 
wilds,  should  find  a watch  in  his  pathway.”  But  the 
surprise  of  the  untutored  savage  would  be  insignificant 
in  comparison  with  the  astonishment  that  overspread 

* If  your  minister  does  not  possess  a watch,  for  this  and  other  pur- 
poses, it  is  high  time  you  gave  him  one. 


COURAGE,  AND  OTHER  MATTERS.  133 

Francis  Vane’s  face  as  he  saw,  by  the  last  sunset  ray 
gleaming  redly  on  the  red  figures  of  the  treasury  stamp, 
the  number  13,247.  It  was  one  of  the  missing  notes. 
Quickly  he  made  known  the  startling  discovery ; and, 
though  neither  of  the  gentlemen  could  believe  it  to  bear 
special  significance  after  the  lapse  of  so  long  an  interval, 
both  the  ladies  were  sure  it  would  be  an  important  clew 
to  the  truth. 

''  You  will  try,  at  least,”  pleaded  Alice. 

I wull,  indeed,”  replied  Frank,  promptly,  with  an 
inward  resolve  that  he  would  distinguish  himself  in  the 
eyes  of  this  fair  one  by  vindicating,  if  human  skill  could 
do  it,  the  father  of  the  other  fair  one. 

By  this  time  the  town  was  reached,  and  the  members 
of  the  quartet  were  dropped  at  their  respective  places, 
— Alice  first,  at  the  gate  of  the  villa,  and  Frank  and 
Isabella  at  their  residence  near  by,  leaving  Morton  to  be 
conveyed  in  solitary  grandeur  to  his  lodgings  at  the  hotel. 

We  cannot  follow  them  all.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
Alice  devoted  the  evening  to  a long  letter,  in  which  tlie 
heroism  of  Mr.  Stephen  Moore  and  the  innocent  woes 
of  Andrew  and  Katherine  Campbell  were  dilated  upon 
with  enthusiasm,  and  the  opinion  was  expressed  that  the 
noble  hero  who  stood  by  his  friend,  and  the  noble  girl 
who  stood  by  her  father,  were  worthy  of  each  other. 
This  piece  of  romance  was  overstrained.  Perhaps  Alice 
did  not  feel  it  very  sincerely.  By  the  time  Philip  re- 
ceived the  letter,  he  was  personally  well  acquainted  with 
the  virtues  of  both  parties,  and  he  would  have  given  a 
good  deal  to  be  able  to  pronounce  the  idea  absurd  or  im- 
practicable. 


134 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

UP  THE  GRADE. 

The  impromptu  concert  was  over,  and  Gentleman 
Andy,  with  a sigh,  tenderly  replaced  his  violin  in  its 
case.  With  it  he  laid  away  a certain  air  of  refinement 
that  had  crept  over  him  in  the  rapture  of  his  musical 
soliloquy.  With  the  manner  of  one  at  the  burial  of  a 
friend,  he  deposited  the  beloved  companion  in  a chest, 
whence  he  had  taken  it,  then  turned  wearily  back  to 
life,  and  was  somebody  else  again.  The  company  in  the 
sitting-room  began  to  scatter.  Some  of  the  teamsters 
went  out  to  camp  on  the  ground  under  their  wagons; 
some  of  the  miners  started  to  walk  back  to  their  lonely 
cabins  up  the  canon ; one  or  two  men  brought  up  their 
horses,  tightened  their  broad  ''  cinches,’’  * and  with  jing- 
ling of  Spanish  spurs  mounted  for  a night  journey,  less 
dusty  and  oppressive  than  travel  by  day.  Miss  Camp- 
bell vanished  to  her  own  apartment,  with  a good-night  to 
Philip,  too  cordial  for  mere  acquaintanceship,  yet  not  so 
impressive  as  a friend’s  farewell.  The  others  got  no 
good-night  from  her  at  all,  but  it  was  their  own  fault ; 
they  were  not  paying  attention,  except  Stephen  Moore, 
whom  she  accidentally  overlooked,  but  who  noticed  her 

* Mexican  saddle-girths,  formed  of  loose  parallel  strands  of  cord  or 
leather. 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


135 


parting  from  the  young  fellow  bound  for  Goldopolis  in 
the  coach.  It  puzzled  him.  Kate  don’t  treat  people 
that  way,  first  go  off,”  said  he  to  himself.  That ’s 
queer,  now;  a little  too  kind  and  not  kind  enough. 
Bids  him  good-by  as  if  she ’d  known  him  for  years,  and 
yet  as  cheerful  and  jolly  as  if  he  was  coming  back  to- 
morrow ! ” 

Stephen  had  hit  the  exact  truth.  She  had  known  him 
for  years,  and  he  was  coming  back  to-morrow.  The 
reader  will  easily  understand,  after  the  revelations  of 
preceding  chapters,  how  the  Eussells,  who  had  been 
reckoned  for  many  years  citizens  of  Bayport,  should 
have  been  better  known  by  name  and  general  rumor  to 
Kate  than  the  Campbells,  who  had  come  like  a comet 
and  gone  out  in  sudden  eclipse,  were  known  to  Philip. 
He  was  away  at  school  and  college  during  the  period  of 
their  residence  near  his  father  s house ; but  the  youthful 
gossips  of  the  place  had  told  enough  of  his  good  looks 
and  cleverness  to  give  Miss  Campbell  a pretty  clear  no- 
tion of  him.  Once  she  had  seen  him ; and  though  he 
had  forgotten  it,  she  had  not.  It  was  not  a specially 
memorable  meeting.  As  she  and  her  father  were  leaving 
Bayport  for  one  of  their  summer  trips,  Philip  came 
striding  up  the  street,  eager  to  reach  home,  where  he  was 
going  to  spend  his  vacation.  This  purpose  had  been 
enough  to  give  him  what  he  seemed  to  lack  now,  an  air 
of  joyous  triumph,  a forward  look.  She  had  known  it 
must  be  young  Eussell,  and  had  thought  him  handsomer 
than  the  girls  had  said  he  was.  When  they  met  at  the 
Home  Station  after  several  years,  the  change  in  each  had 


136 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


been  sufficient  to  prevent  recognition,  even  between 
acquaintances.  But  she  had  found  him  out  during  their 
conversation;  and  the  meeting  had  given  her  strange 
thrills  of  pleasure-pain.  The  sight  of  him  brought  back 
all  the  dreams,  and  with  them  the  sad  waking  from 
dreams,  of  her  ardent  youth.  He  seemed  the  splendid 
incarnation  of  the  life  she  had  once  joyously  begun,  and 
from  which  she  had  been  torn  away  under  mysterious 
and  inexplicable  circumstances.  For  Andrew  Campbell 
had  never  told  his  daughter  of  what  he  w^as  accused. 
She  had  only  gathered  a vague  hint  or  two  from  the 
newspapers,  which  did  not  dilate  upon  the  subject  of  the 
forgery,  being  unable  to  get  the  details,  and  not  having 
attained,  as  yet,  the  greater  modern  art  of  creating  them. 
It  was  a perilous  thing  to  leave  her  in  ignorance.  Tlie 
chances  certainly  were-  that  a daughter  so  treated  would 
be  forced  to  admit  to  herself,  however  unwillingly,  some 
degree  of  guilt  in  her  father.  But  this  she  had  never 
done,  because  she  loved  him  and  trusted  him.  His 
infirmity  she  had  since  learned  to  know  and  to  pity ; but 
any  connection  of  him  with  crime  was  a thing  incon- 
ceivable to  her.  So  she  had  clung  to  him  through  every 
change,  putting  resolutely  behind  her  the  bright  world 
from  which  he  led  her  away.  But  now  came  the  shining 
genius  of  that  world;  and  in  a moment  its  spell  was 
again  upon  her. 

As  for  Philip,  he  had  heard  of  Kate  Campbell,  but 
had  given  himself  no  trouble  to  inquire  about  her  in  the 
old  Bayport  days.  He  could  not  recall  the  names  of 
those  belles  of  the  town,  even,  to  whom  he  had  at  various 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


137 


times  been  introduced.  How  should  he  recognize  one 
whom  he  had  never  before  happened  to  meet  ? But  in 
his  case  memory  was  not  necessary  to  enforce  the  argu- 
ments of  present  feeling.  He  was  thoroughly  captivated. 
Hence  it  was  natural,  if  not  quite  ingenuous,  that  he 
should  say,  just  before  the  close  of  their  cosey  corner  chat, 
that  he  should  be  obliged  ’’  to  come  back  from  Goldop- 
olis  by  the  return  stage.  What  would  oblige  him  it  is 
not  hard  to  guess.  Tendresse  oblige  is  a veracious  prov- 
erb, or  would  be,  if  the  fact  were  not  too  notorious  even 
to  be  proverbial.  Philip  excused  himself  to  himself  by 
the  thought  that,  as  a newspaper  correspondent,  it  was 
his  duty  to  study  the  social  conditions  of  the  country ; 
and  the  conditions  at  Campbell’s  Station  promised  to  be 
very  social  indeed ! 

Stephen  sauntered  out  to  the  stable,  where  the  hostler 
was  harnessing  the  horses  ; and  Andrew  Campbell,  light- 
ing an  extra  candle,  went  into  the  little  express-office  to 
prepare  the  mail,  express  freight,  and  treasure.  He  was 
followed,  to  his  surprise,  by  Mr.  Johnson,  who  entered 
the  office  with  him,  and  deliberately  locked  the  door. 

''No  time  for  introductions,”  said  the  affable  Mr.  John- 
'Son,  in  a business-like  way.  Do  you  know  this  Mr. 
Harrison  Howe  ? ” The  unhappy  station-keeper,  struck 
dumb  by  the  question,  to  which  he  attached  some 
vaguely  dreadful  significance,  could  only  bow  his  head 
in  reply. 

Did  you  know  him  when  he  was  Jim  Barlow  ? ” At 
this  question  Campbell  breathed  again,  and  held  up  his 
head  with  a respectably  audible  Ho.” 


138 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


“ Nor  when  he  was  Charley  Green  ? ” Here  Camp- 
hell’s  soul  evaporated  suddenly,  and  he  collapsed  again. 

''  Confound  it,  man,’'  exclaimed  his  inquisitor ; ‘‘I’m 
not  after  you,  I ’m  after  him.  If  you  had  any  pluck 
now,  you  would  help  me,  and  help  yourself.  He  got  you 
into  a scrape  once,  and  you  owe  him  one  for  that.  Take 
care  he  don’t  get  you  into  another.  My  name ’s  Johnson.” 
This  announcement  produced  less  effect  than  the 
speaker  had  anticipated.  Campbell  merely  looked  at 
him  in  a bewildered  way,  absorbed  already  in  a panic 
that  bereft  him  of  the  power  to  put  this  and  that  to- 
gether. But  the  traveller  had  a greater  shock  for  him  in 
reserve.  “ There ’s  my  card,”  said  he,  extracting  care- 
fully from  his  wallet  a folded  and  worn  paper,  which  he 
spread  out  and  held  before  the  eyes  of  the  station- 
keeper.  It  was  a check  for  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the 
Bayport  Bank.  “ That ’s  my  name,”  said  he,  — adding 
significantly,  “ if  I did  n’t  write  it  myself.  Seen  it  be- 
fore, have  n’t  you  ? ” 

There  was  no  reply.  All  the  past  rolled  back  upon 
the  weak  and  helpless  soul  of  Andrew  Campbell ; and  at 
this  critical  moment,  when  a brave  word  would  have 
broken  the  fatal  charm  forever,  he  was  speechless. 
Mr.  Johnson,  deeply  perplexed,  returned  the  check  to 
his  wallet,  and  contemplated  with  great  vexation  the 
bowed  form  before  him.  “Well,”  he  said  at  length,  “ if 
you  can’t  talk,  I can’t.  I shall  be  back  in  a few  days, 
and  you  ’ll  think  better  of  it.” 

He  left  the  room ; and  Andrew  Campbell,  in  strange 
composure,  went  on  mechanically  with  his  work,  sorted. 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


139 


registered,  and  packed  the  parcels  for  the  coach,  while 
Mr.  Johnson  paced  the  porch,  soliloquizing  vehemently. 

“ The  man’s  innocent ; I ’ll  bet  on  that,”  he  said  to  him- 
self. “ But  what  a fool ! Here  all  these  years  I ’ve  been 
thinking  that  I had  only  to  meet  him,  arid  straighten 
out  the  whole  affair.  I thought  he  would  give  me  the 
evidence  to  fix  the  other  fellow ; but  as  soon  as  I give 
him  a first-rate  chance,  down  he  goes  in  a heap.  Of 
course,  I can’t  be  any  plainer  with  him  now;  if  he 
should  by  any  possibility  be  connected  with  Green,  he 
might  go  and  warn  him,  and  what  would  W.  F.  say  to 
me  then  ? But  after  this  affair  is  off  my  hands,  I ’ll 
come  back  here,  and  sit  square  down  to  it,  and  have  the 
truth  out  of  him.  If  I can’t  go  for  Mr.  Green,  I ’ve  got  a 
good  case  against  Mr.  Barlow  ; and  I suspect  I ’m  just 
in  time  to  stop  a neat  little  game  for  Mr.  Howe.  No,  I 
won’t  stop  it,  but  I ’ll  spoil  it.” 

The  coach  drew  up  before  the  station,  and  Stephen 
cheerily  shouted,  “All  aboard  ! ” As  Philip  and  Howe 
came  out  at  this  summons,  the  driver  called  to  the  for- 
mer, “ You ’d  better  sit  up  here  ! ” and  pointed  to  the 
seat  by  his  side.  Nothing  loath,  Philip  climbed  up  and 
took  the  indicated  place.  He  was  fond  of  riding  out- 
side, — as  who  is  not,  except  the  experienced  and  Uas4 
traveller,  who  wants  to  sleep,  and  knows  well  that  the 
inside  corner  with  the  back  to  the  horses  is  the  best 
place  for  his  purpose  ? This  was  the  place  of  w'hich  Mr. 
Howe  coolly  took  possession,  while  Mr.  Johnson  stretched 
himself  on  the  back  seat.  “ It ’s  too  light  a load  for  com- 
fort,” said  Stephen ; “ but  the  road  is  smooth  enough.” 


140 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Campbell  now  emerged  from  the  house,  carrying  the 
treasure-box  and  a number  of  packages.  These  he 
handed  up  to  the  driver,  who  stowed  them  away  in  the 
front  boot,  under  his  seat.  During  this  operation  the 
station-keeper  naturally  stood  by  the  forward  wheel,  and 
his  head  was  quite  near  the  corner  where  Harrison  Howe 
was  ensconced.  It  was  perhaps  to  preclude  the  oppor- 
tunity of  reply  that  the  latter  chose  the  last  moment, 
just  before  the  start,  to  say  in  a low  tone,  ''  It  will  be 
well  for  you  to  meet  me  to-morrow  afternoon  at  the 
half-way  cabin.  I must  see  you  there.”  The  quiet 
invitation  carried  a threat  in  its  tone.  Campbell  heard 
it,  and  made  no  reply.  No  more  did  Mr.  Johnson,  who 
also  heard  it,  from  the  opposite  corner  of  the  stage, 
where  he  sat  rolled  up  in  his  blankets,  apparently  as 
indifferent  as  he  was  really  intent. 

’Stephen  gathered  up  the  reins,  and  took  the  whip 
from  its  resting-place  on  the  roof  behind  him.  The 
hostler,  who  had  been  holding  the  leaders,  let  go  and 
sprang  aside ; the  fiery  mustangs  plunged  forward,  but 
speedily  felt  the  master’s  hand ; and  in  a few  seconds 
the  whole  team  had  settled  to  their  work  in  a free, 
swinging  trot,  and  the  stage  rattled  away  up  the  road. 
Tor  half  a mile  this  lively  gait  was  maintained  over 
gently  ascending  ground.  Then,  as  the  hill  became 
steeper,  and  the  shadows  of  the  pines  gathered  dark 
over  the  road,  the  ardor  of  the  animals  subsided,  and 
they  fell  into  the  quick  walk  which  is  the  highest 
accomplishment  of  stage-horses. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Johnson  had  been,  at 


UP  THE  GEADE. 


141 


Ills  own  request,  put  inside  with  Harrison  Howe.  Yet 
he  made  no  attempt  to  improve  the  opportunity  of  fur- 
ther acquaintance.  On  the  contrary,  he  went  to  sleep 
immediately.  To  go  to  sleep  at  will  is  a convenient 
habit  not  over-dif&cult  to  acquire  for  those  who  travel 
much  in  stage-coaches ; and  the  reason  of  its  exercise  at 
this  moment,  I venture  to  say,  was  the  desire  of  Mr. 
Jolmson  to  be  wide  awake  at  a later  period,  wlien  there 
would  be  some  use  in  it. 

Meanwhile  Harrison  Howe  sat  motionless  and  im- 
passive, but  did  not  sleep.  His  thoughts  it  would  be 
difiicult  to  describe.  The  thoughts  of  a villain  are 
peculiarly  his  own,  and  incomprehensible  to  others. 
They  are  seldom  sincere.  The  worst  men  justify  them- 
selves to  themselves,  I suppose  ; and,  wlien  they  look 
their  own  purposes  in  the  face,  call  them  by  fairer  names 
than  belong  to  them.  This  man  came  as  near  the  pure 
Satanic  as  human  nature  could  come.  He  had  the  lios- 
tility  to  society  of  a socialist,  without  the  blind  passion, 
sense  of  wrong,  or  utopian  enthusiasm  of  a socialist. 
The  world  was  not  so  much  his  enemy  as  liis  prey ; life 
was  a game,  and  the  main  thing  Vv  as  to  win  it.  The 
greater  the  odds,  the  greater  the  stake  and  the  triumpli. 
Yet  he  Imd  a flimsy  subterfuge  or  two  in  liis  secret  soul, 
after  all.  One  was  the  plea  of  contempt  for  the  indi- 
viduals he  wronged.  Why  should  not  these  boorish 
miners  be  skillfully  deprived  of  their  money  ? They 
would  only  waste  it  in  some  other  way,  if  not  in  play. 
And  as  for  swindling  a stock  company,  or  robbing  Wells 
Fargo’s  express,  it  was  only  giving  the  parties  what 


142 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


they  deserved.  Mining  companies  were  swindlers,  and 
the  express  business  was  a regular  robbery. 

Mr.  Howe  had  recognized  Mr.  Johnson  as  soon  as  he 
set  eyes  on  him  ; and  it  w^as  important  for  him  to  know 
whether  he  had  himself  been  recognized  in  turn.  From 
what  he  heard  while  he  listened  under  the  eaves  of  the 
stable,  he  had  inferred  that  the  quondam  county  recruit- 
ing agent  was  now  on  special  service  for  the  express 
company,  and  suspicious  of  an  approaching  highway 
robbery  on  the  road.  But  he  had  not  heard  his  own 
name  in  that  connection,  and,  unless  identified  as  the 
Bayport  bank  clerk,  he  felt  reasonably  safe.  However, 
before  J ohnson  dropped  off  to  sleep,  he  had  ventured  a 
careless  remark  about  the  road  and  the  weather,  and  the 
question,  Are  you  going  beyond  town  ? ’’  to  which  the 
traveller  replied  promptly,  '"Just  as  fast,  sir,  as  W.  F.  & 
Co.  can  carry  me.  My  business  over  at  Virginia  can’t 
wait.”  This  reply  had  given  him  great  satisfaction ; 
and  he  had  turned  with  free  mind  to  the  weaving  of 
his  dark  plans,  — grown  darker,  within  the  hour,  by  a 
new  thread  of  crime.  He  was  slightly  troubled  by  a 
double  purpose.  It  is  a great  mistake  to  pursue  two 
ends  at  once  by  the  devious  path  of  iniquity.  The  road 
is  slippery  enough  at  best,  and  hard  to  travel  with  a 
single  object  only  in  view.  But  Mr.  Howe  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  tempted  with  the  notion  that  he  could 
betray  Andrew  Campbell  so  far  as  to  additionally  protect 
himself  in  a contemplated  villainy,  and  then  make  use 
of  the  father’s  fresh  peril  to  gain  possession  of  the 
daughter.  She  should  be  afraid  of  him,  and  then  grate- 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


143 


ful  to  him,  or,  if  not  grateful,  at  least  helpless  to  resist. 
At  all  events,  she  should  marry  him.  His  former  threat 
had  partly  failed  of  effect,  by  reason  of  Kate’s  unex- 
pected ignorance  of  her  father’s  history.  But  he  would 
make  that  plainer,  — and  more  too.  As  for  ruining  the 
old  man,  he  was  ruined  already ; why  should  he  be  in 
the  way  ? So  long  as  things  continued  as  they  were, 
the  girl  would  not  leave  her  father,  — persisted  in  throw- 
ing away  her  life  for  his  sake.  Well,  let  her  do  some- 
thing better  for  his  sake ; or  lose  him  first,  and  then 
listen  to  reason.  She  might  be  glad  to  get  a husband, 
being  the  daughter  of  a disgraced  outcast.  He  reflected 
with  satisfaction  upon  his  own  magnanimity  in  stooping 
to  her.  He  had  never  been  disgraced,  — so  long  do  men 
cling  to  the  dead  leaves  of  reputation  when  the  sap  of 
character  has  departed ! It  is  the  dead  tree  boasting 
itself  over  the  stripped  but  living  one. 

Meanwhile  a new  friendship  was  making  famous 
progress  outside,  on  the  box.  Steve  had  accepted  a cigar 
from  Philip,  and  two  stars  of  lurid  hue  had  thus  been 
added  to  the  galaxies  of  night.  The  sky  was  deep  and 
clear,  and  the  constellations  shone  with  a brilliancy 
unequalled  in  more  humid  chmates.  The  lamps  of  the 
coach  illuminated  brightly  a little  space  on  either  side, 
and  their  rays  streamed  forward  across  the  backs  and 
ears  of  the  steadily  pulling  team,  and  threw  on  the 
road  in  front  of  the  leaders  huge  misshapen  shadows 
that  glided  on  ahead  in  ghostly  silence.  Beyond  these 
the  road  could  still  be  seen,  dimly  white,  in  spots  and 
segments,  through  the  intervals  of  the  trees.  There  was 


144 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


the  sound  of  rushing  waters  in  the  unseen  canon  on  the 
right;  and  over  all  were  discerned,  from  time  to  time, 
the  snowy  summits  of  the  Sierra,  holding  mute  converse 
with  the  stars. 

“ This  is  grand  ! ” ejaculated  Philip,  willing  to  let  his 
companion  know  that  he  could  appreciate  the  beauties 
of  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  ignorant  whether  that 
companion  possessed  a soul  above  his  brake-bar. 

He  was  naturally  surprised  when  Stephen  replied,  ''You 
may  say  that,  particularly  when  you  get  up  on  the 
Grade.  There ’s  nothing,  sir,  to  beat  the  Grade,  except 
the  Yosemite  and  the  Himalayas.  Some  folks  bet  on 
one  and  some  on  t’other ; but  it ’s  not  many  have  seen 
all  three ; and  as  for  me,  I say,  give  me  the  Himalayas 
once  in  my  life,  and  the  Yosemite  once  a year,  and  the 
Grade  for  a steady  beverage.” 

" Suppose  you  trot  out  your  reasons  for  that  opinion,” 
said  Philip,  venturing  a little  appropriate  slang  on  his 
own  account,  just  to  make  things  sociable. 

The  driver  looked  around  with  a shrewd  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  "You  could  drive  six  horses,  with  a little  practice,” 
said  he.  " You  take  to  things  kindly ; I can  see  that. 
Now  what’s  the  use,”  continued  Stephen,  warming  to  his 
theme,  and,  to  the  infinite  surprise  of  his  listener,  drop- 
ping almost  every  trace  of  the  coast  dialect  as  he  pro- 
ceeded, — " what ’s  the  use  of  not  accommodating  your- 
self to  things  ? You  drive  against  a stone ; which  has 
to  give  way,  you  or  the  stone  ? I tell  you,  facts  are  too 
many  for  us,  in  this  world.  Folks  that  mean  to  get 
ahead  must  steer  round  among  them;  and  folks  that 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


145 


keep  stiff  in  spite  of  everything,  and  won’t  change,  are 
just  rocks  on  the  coast,  and  nothing  more.” 

''  Do  yielding  and  accommodating  people  get  ahead  ? ” 
inquired  Philip,  feeling  inwardly  that  his  own  easy- 
going ways  entitled  him  to  this  description. 

"'hTo;  but  go-ahead  people  are  accommodating,”  re- 
plied the  philosophic  John.  ^'There’s  a high  old  differ- 
ence,— just  as  much  as  between  a ship  and  a chip. 
One  is  going  somewhere,  and  the  other  is  n’t.  Now  there 
was  a gentleman  by  the  name  of  Paul,  — I used  to  hear 
a good  deal  about  him,  more  than  I have  heard  lately, 
— and  he  accommodated  himself  to  all  men,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  story,  to  see  if  by  any  means  he 
couldn’t  save  some  of  ’em.  Father  Eyan,  over  here, 
is  another  of  the  same  breed ; but  I don’t  feel  so  sure  of 
his  kind  of  salvation.  However,  it ’s  the  best  he ’s  got, 
and  he  goes  in  for  it  like  a man.  I like  to  see  a man 
pick  up  the  ways  and  the  talk  of  people  round  about 
him.  I do,  every  time.  Bless  you,  to  hear  me  sling  ob- 
servations with  any  of  our  boys  up  at  ’Opolis,  you’d 
think  I was  the  oldest  galoot  on  the  Pacific  coast ! but 
I ’m  about  the  last  importation,  — only  out  three  or  four 
years.  And  I ’m  the  only  man  in  four  counties  that  can 
chant  Chinee  with  a Chinee,  or  tell  what  the  mashed 
spiders  mean  that  they  call  handwriting.  That  I learned 
in  Hong  Kong.  It  is  a great  deal  handier  to  talk  to 
people  as  they  talk  to  you.  If  ever  I meet  Captain 
Morton  again,  it  won’t  be  a week  before  I have  my 
tongue  rigged  for  college  lingo.  I never  was  at  college, 
you  know ; but  being  along  with  Alf  Morton  is  as  good 
as  going  to  college.” 


146 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


Philip  started  at  the  name  of  his  friend ; and  a few 
hurried  questions  established  the  identity  of  the  stage- 
driver  as  the  former  Lieutenant  Moore,  of  whom  he  had 
occasionally  heard  Morton  speak.  After  this,  their  ac- 
quaintance advanced  with  speedy  strides ; and  for  some 
time  they  were  sufficiently  occupied  in  exchanging 
reminiscences  of  Cap  ” Morton,  as  Stephen,  with  the 
irreverence  of  affection,  called  the  man  who,  though  he 
'*'  went  in  ” a captain,  had  come  out  ” a brevet  briga- 
dier, but  preferred  the  distinction  of  no  military  title  at 
all,  after  his  military  service  was  ended.  Talking  of 
Morton  led  Philip  to  mention  Alice  ; and  Stephen 
seemed  to  infer  at  once  some  special  connection  between 
them.  He  asked  many  questions,  to  which  Philip  re- 
plied with  fraternal  enthusiasm ; at  last  he  said,  If 
you  Ve  got  a picture  of  her,  hand  it  over.” 

Philip  produced  a card-photograph,  which  he  held  to- 
wards the  driver,  saying  (as  we  always  say  on  such  occa- 
sions), “It  don’t  do  her  justice”;  and  adding,  “And 
how  can  you  see  it  in  the  dark  ? ” 

“ I ’ll  show  you,”  replied  Stephen ; and  gathered  his 
reins  and  whip  in  one  hand,  — the  six  lines  passing  in 
and  out  among  the  fingers  in  an  intricate  order,  known 
only  to  the  initiated,  but  to  them  familiar  as  five-finger 
exercises  to  Eubinstein.  Then  he  knocked  the  ashes 
from  the  end  of  his  cigar,  and  having  thus  laid  bare  the 
glowing  coal,  took  the  photograph  and  held  it  close  to 
this  novel  source  of  light,  moving  it  slowly  around,  so 
as  to  bring  out,  one  after  another,  all  the  points  of  the 
picture.  In  this  way  he  solemnly  traversed  the  waving 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


147 


hair,  the  gentle,  yet  bright  features,  the  dainty  laces,  and 
the  general  refined  and  graceful  pose.  Everything  be- 
spoke the  combination  of  taste,  breeding,  and  earnest  in- 
telligence. It  was  ''  a notch  above  Kate,  even  ” thought 
he,- with  a pang  of  remorse  for  his  disloyalty,  as  he  re- 
turned the  likeness,  saying  aloud,  ''  She  41  do  ! ” 

Philip  was  not  quite  ready  to  discuss  with  a new  ac- 
quaintance his  hopes  that  Morton  and  his  sister  might 
make  a match  of  it ; so  he  changed  the  theme  abruptly, 
saying,  You  have  not  told  me  yet  the  reasons  for  your 
opinion  about  the  scenery  of  the  Grade.'' 

Well,"  said  Stephen,  relapsing  into  miners'  slang  as 
easily  as  Wegg  dropped  into  poetry,  I don't  know  as  I 
can  segregate  my  reasons.  But  I 've  been  in  the  Hima- 
layas once,  and  I 'd  like  to  have  as  many  thousand  dol- 
lars as  I don't  want  to  go  again.  Hitched  on  to  a party 
led  by  a young  Englishman,  — a bully  boy,  he  was  ; as 
cool  as  the  bottom  o'  Lake  Tahoe,  and  as  keen  as  the  top 
o'  Shasta.  But  he  could  n't  make  food,  nor  stop  winter ; 
and  we  had  a hard  time  crossing  the  range.  When  we 
came  down  into  Thibet,  half  starved  and  half  froze,  may 
I be  a bull- whacker  if  they  did  n't  turn  us  back  into  the 
mountains,  and  paradise,  full  of  cashmere  goats,  right 
before  our  eyes  ! But  we  had  to  git ; those  fellows  laid 
an  injunction  on  us.  They 've  got  a soft  thing  of  it  for 
themselves,  and  they  don't  mean  to  have  any  foreigners 
staking  out  claims  there." 

""  Perhaps  they  have  a law,  "Hone  but  Asiatics  allowed 
in  this  district,'  " said  Philip,  mischievously,  almost  quot- 
ing a prohibition  which  many  of  the  American  districts 
had  enacted  against  Chinamen. 


148 


BKAVE  HEAETS. 


Stephen  laughed.  ''Well,  they  played  our  own  game 
on  us,  that ’s  a fact ; but  we  never  drove  our  Chinamen 
back  into  the  High  Sierra  in  the  middle  of  winter ; and 
that ’s  what  they  did  to  us.  Almost  a third  of  us  got 
down  to  the  Ganges  alive.  You  bet,  I Ve  had  enough 
of  the  Himalayas.  But  the  scenery  was  the  real  thing. 
There ’s  one  canon  in  there,  as  perpendicular  all  round 
as  the  Yosemite,  and  considerably  deeper.  There  is  n’t 
a green  thing  in  it,  for  the  bottom  of  it  is 'over  fourteen 
thousand  feet  above  tide.  When  we  camped  in  it,  one 
night,  the  waterfalls  were  just  spilling  down  over  the 
edges  all  round  us,  so  thick  you  could  n’t  count  ’em. 
In  the  night  they  all  froze,  and  when  morning  came  the 
walls  of  that  canon  were  just  hung  with  ice.  About  ten 
o’clock  the  sun  got  up  far  enough  to  shine  down  into  it, 
and  the  way  that  ice  sparkled  and  flashed,  discounted  all 
the  diamonds  in  creation ! It  was  the  biggest  thing  on 
ice  ever  I saw ; but  once  is  enough.  The  show  is  too 
expensive ; and  any  other  fellow  can  have  my  season- 
ticket. 

" And  what  about  Yosemite  ? ” queried  Philip. 

" Yosemite  can’t  be  beat  on  this  footstool,”  replied  the 
driver,  " but  there ’s  one  thing  the  matter  with  it.  When 
you ’ve  got  there  you  ’re  there,  and  there ’s  nothing 
else  to  do  but  go  back  again.  It  don’t  come  in  inci- 
dentally, like  the  Grade  — ” 

Here  one  of  the  leaders  showed  symptoms  of  shirk- 
ing his  share  of  the  pulling ; and  Stephen,  stopping  the 
stage,  handed  the  reins  to  Philip,  and  descended  into 
the  road,  where  he  collected  a quantity  of  small  stones. 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


149 


which  he  tossed  up  to  the  seat,  and  then  returned  to  his 
place.  The  object  of  this  manoeuvre  was  soon  evident ; 
for  the  next  time  the  lazy  leader  hung  back,  secure  in 
immunity  from  the  whip  by  reason  of  his  remoteness, 
Stephen  rocked  ’’  him  neatly  between  the  ears,  and  he 
recognized  the  situation  at  once.  That  horse  knows,” 
said  the  driver,  whether  I Ve  got  rocks  aboard  or  not. 
He  suspected  what  I lit  down  for,  and  now  he  has  got 
thoroughly  posted.  He  11  not  trouble  me  any  more.” 
So  saying,  and  adding  a gentle  granitic  reminder  on  the 
flank  of  the  noble  animal  under  discussion,  he  returned 
to  the  subject  of  conversation. 

As  for  the  Grade,  1 11  say  nothing  about  her.  There 
she  is ! you  can  judge  for  yourself.”  At  this  moment 
the  coach  emerged  from  the  last  belt  of  forest.  The  tim- 
ber-limit had  not,  indeed,  been  passed;  there  were 
patches  of  trees  in  inaccessible  places  still  above.  But 
near  the  road  all  the  trees  had  been  cut  down  for  the  use 
of  the  miners ; and  the  principal  aspect  of  the  surface 
(the  stumps  being  comparatively  invisible  in  the  noctur- 
nal light)  was  that  of  barrenness  and  nakedness.  The 
road  struck  into  the  main  canon,  and  followed  with 
regularly  ascending  inclination  the  inequalities  of  the 
mountain-side.  It  could  be  seen  as  an  oblique  line,  now 
boldly  shown  along  the  face  of  a projecting  cliff,  now 
turning  abruptly  out  of  sight,  to  enter  a side-gulch,  and 
run  around  it,  reappearing  on  the  side  of  the  next  pro- 
jection, a little  higher  up.  To  avoid  bridges,  these  moun- 
tain highways  ^'head”  such  side-hollows,  instead  of 
crossing  them  directly.  Still  higherj  the  Grade  scaled  the 


150 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


steep  mountain  in  long  zigzag  lines,  and  crossed  at  last 
the  summit  of  the  pass,  — a neck  of  bare,  glacier-rounded 
granite,  just  at  the  lower  limits  of  the  snow-fields.  The 
canon  looked  a huge,  bottomless  chasm  in  the  starlight ; 
and  while  the  coach  advanced  steadily,  with  leisurely 
creaking  of  harness  and  thoroughbrace,  Philip  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  a shudder,  as  he  glanced  upward  at 
the  mighty  masses,  or  downward  into  the  abyss  pro- 
found. To  his  imagination,  the  road  was  scarcely  wide 
enough  for  the  wheels ; and  every  time  it  turned  one  of 
those  sharp  corners,  to  head  ” a side  gulch,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  leaders  were  certainly  about  to  walk  straight  over 
the  brink.  But  he  said  nothing  of  such  apprehensions, 
knowing  that  they  were  doubtless  the  mark  of  a tyro, 
and  feeling,  moreover,  that  sense  of  personal  irresponsi- 
bility which  every  well-regulated  mind  experiences  on 
shipboard  or  in  a railway  car  or  a stage.  It  is  not  fatal- 
ism, but  trust  in  the  driver,  or  engineer,  or  captain ; and 
a very  good  model  it  would  make,  in  a small  way,  for  the 
larger  trust  which  men  try  — and  fail  — to  repose  in 
Providence. 

Stephen  seemed  to  think  he  had  said  enough  in  the 
purely  aesthetic  line,  and  proceeded  to  invest  the  Grade, 
in  his  own  picturesque  style,  with  the  human  interest  of 
romance  and  adventure.  “ The  best  grade,”  said  he,  “ in 
the  Sierra,  high  or  low.  Wide  enough  in  a good  many 
places  for  teams  to  pass  each  other.  Can  do  it  most  any- 
where, in  fact,  if  you  Ve  got  the  savey  and  the  pluck. 
Eight  about  here  is  where  Curly  Tom  had  tlie  closest 
shave  ever  he  had.  You  see  he  was  coming  down  the 


UP  THE  GRADE. 


151 


Grade  on  a stiddy  trot^  traces  all  a-swinging,  and  every- 
thing loose,  when  one  of  the  wheels  struck  a stone,  and 
the  jar  broke  the  brake-bars,  close  by  the  shoes,  on  both 
sides.  That  left  the  coach  free  to  run  right  on  to  the 
horses ; and  all  Tom  could  do  was  to  lay  on  the  whip, 
an’  holler,  and  do  his  level  best  to  keep  in  the  road.  So 
down  they  came  on  the  run,  the  coach  jumping  about 
like  a crazy  hydraulic  nozzle.  But  what  Tom  did  n’t  know 
about  driving  wasn’t  possible  to  ten  fingers  and  two 
eyes ; and  they  came  along  as  sure  as  a snow-slide,  till 
they  had  n’t  more  than  quarter  of  a mile  to  easy  ground. 
But  just  as  they  jerked  around  this  corner  here,  what 
should  Tom  see  but  a big  double-action,^  with  an  eight- 
ox  team,  standing  putty  near  the  middle  of  the  road, 
twenty  rods  in  front  of  him.  The  oxen  sort  o’  huddled 
a little  towards  the  hill,  but  there  was  n’t  time  to  budge 
the  wagons ; and  the  horses  knew  what  was  up,  as  well 
as  anybody.  One  second  more,  and  they  would  have 
jumped  the  edge  in  a scare,  and  carried  the  coach  with 
’em.  Tom  thought  it  was  a dead  thing,  too,  at  first ; and 
so  it  was,  for  anybody  else  : that  coach,  with  nine  pas- 
sengers inside  and  nine  out,  could  n’t  have  been  insured 
at  ninety-nine  per  cent,  without  a bonus.  But  most  of 
the  passengers  were  old  hands,  and  had  known  for  ten 
minutes  past  that  something  was  to  pay ; so  they  were 
on  the  lookout  to  help,  only  they  said  nothing  about  it, 
on  account  of  the  woman.  No  use  scaring  her,  — hey, 
boys?” 

Go  on  ! ” ejaculated  Philip,  impatiently ; for  Stephen 

* Two  wagons,  coupled  together. 


152 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


was  enjoying  the  situation,  and  seemed  to  meditate  a 
digression  on  the  subject  of  women,  or,  at  least,  of  this 
particular  specimen. 

Go  on  ? ’’  replied  the  driver,  “ I believe  you  ; go  on 
it  was,  or  go  over.  But  the  boys  were  game  ; and  when 
Tom  yelled  at  ’em,  they  took  his  meaning  as  easy  as  if 
it  had  been  a dividend.  " Pile  over  there,  quick  ! ’ says 
he,  pointing  with  his  head  to  the  side  of  the  coach 
towards  the  hill.  You  bet  they  did  n’t  stop  to  consider. 
The  whole  nine  outsiders  rolled  and  scrambled  and 
jumped  across  to  the  edge  of  the  roof  on  that  side ; some 
of  ’em  hung  over  by  their  hands ; and  the  insiders  they 
took  the  joke,  and  crowded  over  to  that  side,  and  stuck 
their  heads  out  o’  winder,  — any  way  to  get  the  load 
shifted  all  to  that  side  of  the  coach.  Tom,  he  never 
looked  to  see  whether  they  had  obeyed  orders.  Of 
course  they  had,  you  know;  and  if  they  hadn’t,  there 
was  no  use  of  remarks.  He  just  laid  on  the  whip  more 
than  ever,  and  yelled  like  a whole  tribe  of  Injuns,  and 
then  held  firm  on  the  reins,  and  drove  straight  for  the 
strip  of  road  between  the  wagons  and  the  edge.  The 
horses  huddled  a little,  and  the  outside  ones  knocked 
plenty  of  dirt  and  stones  down  the  canon ; but  none  of 
’em  fell.  As  for  the  coach,  there  was  n’t  road  enough  for 
her ; but  what  with  going  like  lightning,  and  having  the 
load  well  over  to  the  upper  side,  she  buzzed  by  that 
wagon,  with  two  wheels  on  solid  ground  and  two  in  the 
air,  and,  before  she  had  time  to  upset,  all  four  of  ’em 
struck  bottom  again,  and  the  trick  was  trumped.  The 
boys  gave  Tom  the  biggest  watch  in  the  State,  to  pay  for 


UP  THE  GKADE. 


153 


that  performance, — as  big,  one  way,  as  a Contra  Costa 
pear ; and  she  weighed  fourteen  ounces  before  the  works 
went  into  her/' 

''  How  did  the  woman  behave  ? ” asked  Philip. 

Just  as  you  might  expect,"  replied  Stephen,  from 
that  woman,  and  not  from  any  average  sample.  She 
never  spoke  a word  till  it  was  all  over.  It  was  Andy 
Campbell's  Kate;  and  there  ar'n't  two  such  girls  on 
the  coast." 


154 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

AN  ADVENTURE. 

They  had  now  passed  the  small  side  canons,  and  en- 
tered upon  a long  reach  of  straight,  steep  road,  which 
seemed  to  end  against  the  sky,  where  in  reality,  how- 
ever, it  merely  turned  a corner  and  climbed  the  mountain 
by  another  and  another  and  another  similar  stretch,  the 
whole  constituting  the  vast  zigzag  of  which  I have 
spoken.  At  this  moment,  therefore,  that  part  of  the 
road  which  was  a mile  ahead  of  them  in  one  sense,  was 
about  three  hundred  feet  above  them  in  another  and 
more  literal  sense.  Xot  clearly  understanding  this, 
Philip  was  startled  and  perplexed  to  hear  dropping,  as 
it  were,  out  of  the  night  overhead,  a confused  sound  of 
trampling  hoofs.  A few  seconds  afterwards,  with  a great 
crash  and  rattle,  an  avalanche  of  earth  and  bowlders 
tumbled  into  the  road  just  behind  the  stage.  His  excla- 
mation of  surprise  was  checked  by  a “ ’Sh ! ” from 
Stephen,  who  reined  up  the  frightened  horses,  stopped 
the  coach,  stood  up,  and  listened  intently.  The  hoof- 
strokes  still  sounded,  growing  fainter. 

^'There’s  a runaway  team  on  the  Grade  above  us,” 
said  Stephen.  ^'If  they  turn  that  corner  and  come 
down  on  us.  Wells  Fargo  stand  a good  chance  to  lose  a 
coach.  Keep  your  eye  on  that  spot,  and  tell  me  if  you 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


155 


see  them  against  the  sky.  We  can’t  make  them  out 
along  the  mountain ; it ’s  too  dark.” 

A minute  of  intense  anxiety  followed,  during  which 
Philip  watched  the  indicated  point,  while  Stephen  drove 
on  a few  feet,  and  drew  up  the  stage  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  It  was  one  of  the 
worst  places  on  the  Grade.  The  road  had  here  been 
blasted  out  of  the  solid  rock ; and  economy  had  dictated 
that  it  should  be  left  as  narrow  as  possible.  It  had 
been  considered  the  more  practicable  to  make  it  of  mini- 
mum width  at  this  point,  since  the  length  of  the  straight 
course  was  so  great  that  coming  teams  could  be  distin- 
guished in  ample  time  to  permit  one  or  the  other  party 
to  avail  himself  of  the  occasional  wider  places  specially 
designed  for  passing  or  turning.  But  the  contingency 
of  a runaway  had  not  been  provided  for ; and  Stephen 
realized  keenly  the  unfavorable  character  of  the  situa- 
tion. Behind  him  the  land-slide  which,  coming  from 
far  greater  height,  had  first  terrified  the  unknown  team 
on  the  upper  section  of  the  Grade,  still  continued  a 
lively  fire  of  stones.  There  was  no  escape  in  that  direc- 
tion, even  on  foot.  At  his  left  hand  the  precipice,  three 
hundred  feet  sheer,  to  begin  with,  and  indefinite  possi- 
bilities of  ricochet  beyond  that ; at  his  right  the  cliff,  as 
nearly  vertical  for  thirty  feet  as  the  economy  of  the 
contractor  who  did  the  blasting  could  make  it.  It  even 
overhung  a little,  the  inspector  having  measured  the 
width  of  the  excavation  no  higher  up  than  he  could 
comfortably  reach,  and  the  contractor,  after  one  inspec- 
tion, having  taken  sensible  advantage  of  this  peculiarity. 


156 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


These  reminiscences  are  not  irrelevant.  They  actually 
occurred  to  Stephen’s  mind  at  the  moment,  leading  him 
to  ejaculate  through  his  teeth  several  uncomplimentary 
remarks  and  unsanctified  wishes  concerning  the  said 
contractor,  the  concluding  one  of  which,  to  the  effect 
that  he  ''  would  like  to  see  the  fellow  try  to  climb  that 
identical  rock  with  a pitchfork  behind  him,”  may  stand 
as  a sample  of  the  whole.  Then  he  cast  a look  up  the 
road,  at  the  point  Philip  was  watching.  Perhaps  they 
won’t  come  round  that  corner,  after  all,”  he  muttered ; 
there ’s  a good  place  just  at  the  turn  for  ’em  to  tumble 
over.”  But  at  the  instant,  both  Philip  and  the  driver 
started,  in  the  shock  of  common  despair ; for  they  dis- 
cerned, dimly  but  only  too  well,  against  the  sky,  a 
crowding,  plunging  mass  of  dark  objects,  which  scarcely 
paused  at  the  sharp  turn,  and  then,  as  both  sight  and 
sound  conspired  to  testify,  entered  with  fresh  fury  on  its 
downward  race  along  the  Grade. 

Philip  was  paralyzed  with  something  worse  than  fear, 
— a sort  of  numbness  of  the  will,  coupled  with  the 
keenest  and  most  rapid  perception  of  the  impending 
peril.  Whether  the  stage-horses  should  take  fright  and 
become  unmanageable  before  the  approaching  collision, 
or  the  maddened  animals  should  precipitate  themselves, 
unable  to  check  their  course,  upon  horses  and  coach  to- 
gether, — in  either  case  there  was  but  one  possible  issue, 
the  abyss. 

But  Stephen’s  faculties  were  still  at  his  command. 
He  might  fail  and  die,  but  the  fiag  of  his  unconquerable 
resolution  was  nailed  to  the  mast.  In  this  supreme  mo- 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


157 


ment  lie  was  as  cool  as  ever ; the  only  sign  of  extraor- 
dinary feeling  was  the  tone  of  command  in  which  he 
spoke,  without  explanation  or  preface : Take  this  blan- 

ket ; get  down ; go  and  stand  by  the  leaders.  Keep  well 
up  to  the  rock  and  in  the  shadow.  Don’t  touch  my 
horses.  Speak  low  to  them,  if  you  want  to.  When  the 
others  are  within  ten  yards,  jump  out  in  front  of  them, 
shake  out  the  blanket,  and  make  all  the  noise  you  can. 
Then  jump  back  again,  and  stand  flat  up  against  the  rock.” 
Philip  obeyed  without  a question.  There  was  no  use 
in  waking  the  two  passengers  inside.  They  could  do 
nothing.  As  for  the  driver,  he  had  evidently  chosen  for 
himself  the  position  of  greatest,  though  not  most  appar- 
ent, peril ; he  was  in  danger  from  his  own  team  as  well 
as  the  other.  But  it  was  his  business  to  stay  with  his 
coach,  and  share  its  fate.  Philip  realized  the  all-impor- 
tant character  of  his  own  duty,  and  caught  from  Stephen 
the  inspiration  of  calm  resolve.  As  he  hastened  for- 
ward, he  heard  Harrison  Howe  call  out  to  the  driver, 
who  replied,  peremptorily,  Nothing  that  you  can  help. 
Take  in  your  head,  and  sit  still ; that ’s  all.”  Even  this 
brief  colloquy  seemed  to  disquiet  the  horses,  already 
trembling  with  fear.  As  he  approached  the  leaders,  they 
started  from  him.  Eemembering  his  instructions,  he  did 
not  touch  them,  but  only  spoke  soothingly  to  them,  and 
crossing  in  their  front,  to  take  the  post  assigned  him, 
noticed  with  satisfaction  that  his  presence  and  Stephen’s 
firm  but  quiet  handling  of  the  reins  somewhat  reassured 
them.  They  trembled  still ; but  acknowledged,  as  steeds 
do  in  battle,  the  controlling  purpose  of  man. 


158 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


The  trampling  hoofs  came  nearer  with  fearful  speed. 
Already  the  forms  of  the  animals  could  be  discerned, 
though  he  could  not  make  out  their  number.  It  was 
preposterous  to  try.  What  difference  could  it  make  to 
him  whether  he  was  overwhelmed  by  five  or  fifty  wild 
horses  ? But  ridiculous  as  it  was,  his  chief  annoyance 
at  this  moment,  which  might  be  his  last,  was  his  inability 
to  ascertain  how  many  they  were.  This  thought  was 
driven  away  by  a discovery  so  unexpected  as  to  have  all 
the  effect  of  humor.  Just  as  the  plunging  throng 
reached  the  limit  where  his  active  duty  commenced,  he 
saw  that  they  were  not  horses,  but  mules,  and  the  incon- 
gruity between  the  meek  though  obstinate  beast  with 
which  he  was  acquainted  and  the  notion  of  a furious 
onset,  made  him  laugh.  A cavalry  charge  on  mules ! 
Mules  on  the  rampage  ! He  had  even  an  insane  impulse 
to  drop  his  blanket  and  call  back,  It ’s  all  a mistake ; 
they  he  only  mules  ! 

The  delay  was  wellnigh  fatal ; but  he  was  roused  by 
a word  from  Stephen  Moore,  like  the  blast  of  a trumpet, 
— '"Now!”  It  drove  everything  from  his  mind,  except 
the  instructions  so  lately  and  so  clearly  and  positively 
given.  With  mechanical  obedience  he  sprang  into  the 
open  space,  unrolling  his  California  blanket,  waving  it 
with  a great  fiap,  as  if  it  were  the  Gonfalon  of  Venice, 
and  raising  at  the  same  time  a yell  that  startled  even  the 
old  Sierra.  All  the  lost  opportunities  of  a quiet  life 
were  made  good  in  that  one  wild  outburst.  A rebel 
regiment,  a Baltimore  fire  company,  a New  York  news- 
boy, Eev.  Mr. in  his  most  inspired  moments,  — none 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


159 


of  these,  with  all  the  advantages  of  steady  practice, 
could  have  equalled  Philip’s  grand  impromptu  yell. 

The  leaders  behind  him  reared  and  struggled ; but  the 
strong  hand  of  Stephen  restrained  them.  Before  him  he 
heard  still  greater  commotion,  and  saw,  or  thought  he 
saw,  the  foremost  mules  swerve  suddenly  aside ; but  as 
he  attempted  to  jump  back  again,  according  to  orders, 
the  wind  and  the  Gonfalon  together  wrapped  him  up 
neatly  and  laid  him  in  a heap  on  the  ground,  with  a 
lively  play  of  hoofs  around  and  over  him.  It  was  some 
seconds  before  he  could  extricate  himself.  Meanwhile 
the  two  leading  mules  had  shied  at  his  sudden  appear- 
ance ; one  of  them,  losing  his  footing  on  the  brink,  had 
fallen,  and  pulled  the  other  after  him  by  means  of  the 
harness  which  united  them;  and  in  the  same  manner 
the  whole  dozen,  inseparably  connected,  pair  after  pair, 
had  gone  over  the  fatal  edge,  snorting  and  shrieking  with 
terror.  After  them,  again,  went  the  last  fragments  of  a 
heavy  wagon,  the  loose  frame  of  which,  at  the  final  mo- 
ment, made  a vicious  sweep,  describing  a wide  circle  in 
the  road.  Philip  had  just  worked  out  of  his  blanket, 
which  lay  in  a pile  at  his  feet,  and  was  trying  to  collect 
his  senses,  when  this  timber  came  swinging  round,  and 
— carried  away  the  blanket ! Opening  again  as  it  de- 
scended into  the  gloomy  gulf,  it  disappeared  like  a dun 
cloud,  or  a pall  dropping  on  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  or  a 
wide-winged  condor,  swooping  leisurely  down  to  make 
a meal  of  them. 

It  was  all  over.  The  depths  gave  back  no  echoes. 
Philip  thought  he  had  realized  his  peril  before;  but 


160 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


now  it  came  back  upon  him  fresher  than  at  first.  He 
climbed  in  silence  back  to  his  seat ; and  even  the  stage- 
driver  was,  for  a little  time,  not  inclined  to  speak.  Mr. 
Howe  lifted  the  leather  hangings  and  put  out  his  head 
again.  He  was  as  cool  as  Stephen ; for  bravery  does  not 
depend  on  goodness,  though  they  ought  to  go  together, 
and  make  mischief  enough  when  they  do  not.  But  we 
must  give  even  our  villain  the  credit  of  having  obeyed 
orders  and  made  no  fuss.  Mr.  Johnson  deserves  per- 
haps still  higher  praise ; for  he  had  scarcely  moved,  and 
everybody  but  himself  thought  he  had  slept  serenely 
through  the  whole  affair,  whereas  in  reality  he  had 
waked  at  the  first  noise,  and  was  watching.  So  far  as 
his  personal  safety  was  concerned,  he  knew  that  the 
driver  would  do  his  duty,  and  call  out  the  passengers  if 
it  was  best.  Beyond  that,  his  own  business  was  to  do 
his  own  duty,  and  study  Mr.  Howe.  After  this  episode, 
he  could  get  credence  for  any  amount  of  sleepiness,  and 
make  his  observations  more  securely  than  ever.  It  was 
lucky  for  him,  he  thought,  and  he  vented  his  satisfaction 
in  a gentle  snore. 

^^WeVe  had  a close  thing  of  it,  I should  say,*^  re- 
marked the  gambler  to  the  driver. 

^‘Well,  Hank,”  replied  Stephen,  ""I  guess  you  can 
bet  on  that.  Mr.  Eussell  here  has  saved  your  life,  sure ; 
don't  you  go  and  make  him  sorry  for  it.” 

The  coach  ascended  slowly  the  road  just  trodden  by 
the  flying  mules  in  their  terrified  rush  to  destruction. 
Stephen  Moore  broke  the  silence  by  whimsically  taking 
up  the  thread  of  discourse  just  where  it  had  been 
interrupted  by  the  recent  thrilling  occurrence. 


AN  ADVENTUKE. 


161 


I was  saying/’  quoth  he,  ‘'there’s  nobody  just 
like  Kate.  Now,  that  time  I told  you  of,  she  just  sat 
there,  like  a knot  on  a log ; never  hollered,  or  tried  to 
jump  out.  If  she ’d  been  here  a minute  ago,  she  would 
have  done  the  same.  You  are  like  her  in  that,  Mr. 
Eussell.  There ’s  not  many  men  that  never  had  been 
in  the  mountains  before  would  have  stood  up  to  their 
work  as  you  did.” 

It  may  easily  be  inferred,  that,  if  Stephen  and  Philip 
were  inclined  to  be  friends  before,  this  occurrence  ce- 
mented their  friendship  completely.  The  result  was 
seen  during  the  remainder  of  the  trip.  Before  the  stage 
entered  at  daybreak  the  single  street  of  Goldopolis,  the 
two  men  had  interchanged  confidences  by  the  volume, 
and  were  calling  each  other,  “by  request,”  Philip  and 
Stephen,  with  occasional  lapses  into  Phil  and  Steve. 
The  driver  w^as  able  to  tell  his  new  comrade  all  that  the 
reader  already  knows  about  the  California  life  of  the 
Campbells,  though  he  could  throw  no  light  on  their 
earlier  history.  He  betrayed  in  this  narration  a warmth 
of  admiration  for  Kate,  and  a degree  of  familiar  intimacy 
with  her,  that  somewhat  alloyed  the  pleasure  with  which 
Philip  listened  to  him.  Not  that  the  experienced  Mr. 
Eussell,  after  weathering  so  many  flirtations,  had  fallen 
in  love  at  an  hour’s  notice  with  a girl  he  scarcely  knew. 
The  precise  condition  of  his  feelings  it  would  be  difficult 
to  analyze ; he  could  not  have  described  it  himself. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  just  to  say  he  had  got  so  far  as  to 
acknowledge  to  himself  that  one  of  the  two  beings  mys- 
teriously blended  in  Miss  Campbell  — namely,  the  gentle, 


K 


162 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


earnest,  heroic  one  — had  a strange  fascination  for  him, 
corresponded  to  the  ideal  he  now  fancied  he  had  always 
cherished.  The  other  Kate  was  slightly  shocking  to  his 
aristocratic  taste ; yet,  after  all,  perhaps  this  was  the 
stronger  attraction.  When  he  perceived  that  Stephen 
Moore  enjoyed  her  confidence,  his  first  thought  was  that 
the  friendship  was  doubtless  a half-way  affair  only ; that 
the  bold  virtues  of  the  stage-driver  had  won  appreciation 
from  the  ruder  side  of  her  nature.  But  the  spell  of 
Stephen's  courage  was  too  strong  upon  him  to  permit 
him  to  disparage  these  virtues;  and,  moreover,  every 
word  of  their  conversation  deepened  his  esteem  for  the 
whole  manhood  of  the  man,  showing  him  mental  and 
moral  qualities  of  delicacy  as  well  as  power,  and  a noble 
character,  over  which  the  unconventional  freedom  and 
roughness  of  Western  ways  was  but  a thin,  transparent 
veil.  He  could  not  fail  to  recognize  in  his  new  acquaint- 
ance, by  the  freemasonry  of  the  class,  a gentleman. 
'‘In  three  weeks,”  said  Philip  to  himself,  "this  man 
could  throw  off  his  disguise,  and  appear  in  our  'best 
society ' like  a born  and  bred  member  of  it.” 

The  reader  need  not  be  surprised  at  such  a statement. 
Appearing  in  society  is  a simple  art,  to  those  who  have 
the  knack  of  adapting  themselves  to  a few  outward 
forms.  As  for  the  intellectual  requirements,  Stephen 
Moore  had  more  preparation  in  that  line  than  society 
requires.  Her  matriculation  is  easily  passed.  The 
point,  however,  upon  which  the  critic  will  be  likely  to 
stumble,  is  that  of  speech.  "It  is  absurd,”  the  critic 
might  say,  in  default  of  the  friendly  warning  which  I 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


163 


now  give  him,  “ to  suppose  that  a man  can  change  at 
will  from  incorrect  pronunciation  and  syntax  to  the 
proper  use  of  his  language.’’  Novels  confirm  this  the- 
ory, but  facts  do  not.  Almost  every  educated  German, 
for  instance,  uses  with  readiness  alternately  the  stately 
language  of  the  Fatherland  and  the  patois  of  his  own 
district.  In  our  own  country,  you  shall  hear  the  habit- 
ual blasphemer  converse  for  an  hour  without  an  oath, 
when  there  are  ladies  present  ” ; or  the  most  extreme 
enemy  of  grammar  and  rhetoric  in  colloquial  conversa- 
tion rise  to  address  the  chair  in  sentences  as  nearly  like 
those  of  Daniel  Webster  as  circumstances  will  permit. 
Any  intelligent  American  can  drop  into  good  English 
when  he  chooses,  — as  good,  I mean,  as  newspapers  and 
popular  books  furnish.  For  it  is  the  aU-pervading  press 
that  preserves  for  us  the  unity  of  our  language,  — the 
press,  in  the  right  hand  of  which  is  Webster’s  Una- 
bridged. 

But  this  is  scarcely  necessary  to  explain  how  easily 
Stephen  Moore  could  have  become  outwardly  as  well  as 
inwardly  a gentleman ; for  he  had  moved,  as  an  army 
officer,  in  the  realm  of  social  etiquette ; and,  if  he  had 
assumed  the  manners  of  a pioneer  since  that,  he  could 
lay  them  down  with  his  blanket-coat  and  his  buckskin 
gloves.  It  was  noteworthy  that  his  past  life  did  not 
hang  about  him  in  relics  of  habit.  You  would  not  have 
recognized  in  him  the  sailor  or  the  soldier,  though  he 
had  been  both  one  and  the  other,  and  in  each  station 
had  assumed  for  the  time  the  ways  of  the  craft.  His 
varied  experiences  had  wrought  themselves  into  charac- 


164 


BKAVE  HEAETS. 


ter,  leaving  no  selvages  of  manner.  This  capacity  for 
utter  change  of  circumstances,  this  persistent  domina- 
tion of  the  man  over  his  accidents,  is,  I think,  peculiarly 
American. 

Tor  that  reason,  probably,  Philip  Eussell  was  quick  to 
recognize  it,  and  to  confess  to  himself  that  the  stage- 
driver  was  in  fact  (to  adopt  seriously  the  point  of  an 
ancient  satirical  anecdote  of  Mrs.  Trollope’s  school)  the 
gentleman  that  drove  the  stage,”  and  quite  worthy  of 
the  best  woman’s  best  affections.  Along  with  this  con- 
viction there  dawned  upon  him  another,  — that  the  afore- 
said gentleman  was  what  the  lady  novelists  call  a 
‘^masterful  man,”  and  likely  to  win  in  any  contest, 
whether  of  love  or  war,  in  which  he  once  earnestly 
engaged.  By  this  process  of  intuition,  Philip’s  first 
mental  query,  ''  How  can  this  man  be  the  friend  of 
Katherine  Campbell?”  imperceptibly  slid  into  forms 
more  disquieting : I wonder  if  he  likes  her  as  much 

as  I do  ? I wonder  if  he  is  in  love  with  her  ? I hope 
he  don’t  want  to  marry  her ! ” Of  course,  the  young 
critic  would  have  preferred  to  '^study”  her,  possibly 
even  to  mould  her  character,”  before  committing  him- 
self ; but  competition  alters  all  these  matters  amazingly. 
If  there  is  a rival  in  the  case,  the  coolest  philosopher 
may  have  to  hasten  or  skip  the  preliminaries.  The 
refiection  that  perhaps  Stephen  Moore  was  ''  spooney  ” 
about  this  young  woman  made  Philip  very  spooney,  all 
at  once.  A desire  that  was  almost  a purpose  sprang  up 
within  him,  but  not  altogether  unchecked  ; for  the  first 
thought,  that ''  it  might  be  imprudent,”  melted  away  only 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


165 


to  give  place  to  a barrier  more  solid,  it  might  be  im- 
possible.” 

He  was  startled  to  perceive  how  far  his  revery  had 
run  away  with  him ; and  he  almost  felt  as  if  he  was 
betraying  himself,  as  he  remarked  with  affected  careless- 
ness, ''  You  seem  to  be  very  intimate  with  Ka — with 
Miss  Campbell.” 

Kate  ! ” said  the  driver ; she ’s  been  an  angel  to  me. 
I Ve  knocked  about  the  world  so  much  that  the  polish, 
what  little  I had,  is  pretty  well  rubbed  off ; but  the  sea 
and  the  army  and  this  life  out  here  ean  do  more  harm 
than  that  to  a man,  if  he  don’t  look  out ; they  can  spoil 
him  right  through,  like  a stick  of  redwood.  Those  big 
trees  of  Calaveras,  now,  you ’d  think  there  never  were 
such  trees ; more  timber  to  the  acre  than  anybody  ever 
dreamed  of.  But  you  can’t  make  anything  out  of  it; 
it’s  as  brittle  as  pith.  The  biggest  redwood  in  that 
grove  would  n’t  pull  a jerky,*  if  it  was  all  put  into  one 
whiffletree  ! And  men  can  get  into  ways  that  take  the 
strength  out  of  their  hearts.  Fact  is,  when  I lost  all 
my  savings  in  that  gold-mining  company,  along  of  Jim 
Barlow,  and  had  to  take  to  driving,  I was  so  cut  up  that 
I came  near  taking  to  liquor,  and  cards,  and  worse. 
Kate  saved  me  just  in  time,  — or  God  Almighty  did ; 
it ’s  all  the  same.  He  operates  through  his  angels ; and 
she ’s  one  of  them,  fixed  up  to  suit  the  nineteenth  cent- 
ury, and  the  Pacific  coast,  and  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States.” 

* A small  covered  wagon,  used  when  the  roads  will  not  permit  the 
hauling  of  heavy  ‘‘  mud- wagons  ” or  coaches. 


166 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Philip’s  heart  sank  a little  at  this  reply.  Of  course, 
Kate’s  affections  had  been  bestowed  on  the  fine  young 
sinner  she  had  saved  from  destruction.  What  was  his 
chance  for  gaining  her  sympathy  ? She  might  despise 
him  for  his  fiippant,  philosophic  doubts,  but  she  could  not 
be  really  interested  in  his  rescue.  There  is  nothing  ro- 
mantic in  delivering  a young  gentleman  from  Fichte,  or 
Hegel,  or  Feuerbach.  Moreover,  his  brief  conversation 
with  Miss  Campbell  had  revealed  to  him  that  he  was 
not  in  such  mortal  peril,  after  all.  His  speculative 
scepticism  was  merely  the  fringe  of  a texture  of  healthy 
philosophy,  which  lay  folded  up  and  ready  for  use  in 
him.  He  had  only  to  shake  it  out,  as  he  had  recently 
shaken  out  his  blanket,  to  put  to  flight  the  monsters  of 
his  imagination.  He  felt  that  she  had  treated  his  little 
mental  ailment  as  an  old  physician  treats  the  disease  of 
a hypochondriac,  recommending  air  and  exercise.  There 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  Had  he  come  so 
many  thousand  miles  to  find  that  out  ? Yes ; but  he 
would  not  have  found  it  out  if  he  had  not  come.  It  was 
the  contact  with  new  realities  that  banished  the  ancient 
phantoms.  He  who  had  feebly  philosophized  over  the 
subjectivity  of  ideas,  the  unknowable  character  of  truth, 
and  the  insubstantiality  of  moral  qualities  and  feelings, 
was  already  implicitly  trusting  a man,  and  more  than 
half  loving  a woman.  From  the  chilly  pcasition  of  the 
observer,  outside  of  himself,  he  had  got  back  into  him- 
self, and  was  “ one  with  his  kind.” 

Stephen  continued : In  fact,  she  is  — ahem ! she  is 

my  sister,  and  a great  deal  too  good  for  me  ! ” 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


167 


“ Your  sister  ? ” said  Philip,  with  a sense  of  perplexity 
and  relief. 

“Well,”  replied  Stephen,  confidentially,  “I  don’t  mind 
saying  to  you  that  that ’s  the  best  that  can  be  done  at 
present.  I confess  marrying  is  n’t  in  my  line,  but  some- 
times I think  I should  take  to  a quiet  life  as  well  as 
anybody.  I ’m  inclined  to  think  that  if  the  old  man  — 
But  there  ! don’t  say  any  more  about  it ! ” 

With  this  extremely  tantalizing  communication  Philip 
was  forced  to  content  himself ; for,  at  this  moment,  the 
coach  stopped  at  a little  cabin,  half-way  up  the  Grade. 
It  was  a rude  affair,  half  logs,  half  stones,  with  a roof  of 
poles  and  dirt,  heavily  loaded  with  bowlders,  to  keep  it 
from  flying  away  on  a favorable  wind.  A light  shone 
through  the  open  door ; and,  in  answer  to  the  call  of 
Stephen,  a tail,  shaggy  fellow  came  out.  It  was  our  ac- 
quaintance, Lije  Pickering,  who  kept  the  Grade  in  order, 
and  took  toll  from  casual  passers.  The  stage,  of  course, 
paid  no  retail  tolls,  but  contracted  for  its  trips  by  the 
year. 

“Well,  Lije,  how  goes  it?”  said  Stephen,  putting 
down  the  brake,  to  let  the  horses  stand  at  ease.  “ Bad 
enough,”  growled  the  road-keeper ; “ that  land-slide  has 
spiled  more  ground  in  a minnit  ’n  I kin  fix  in  a week. 
Ye  hain’t  seen  nothin’  of  them  mules,  — hev  ye  ?” 

“ More  ’n  we  needed  to  amuse  us,”  responded  Stephen. 
“ They  come  down  on  us  like  a Mikosmy  freshet.  Land- 
slide behind,  and  the  whole  gang  of  ’em  in  front.  Had 
to  shove  ’em  over,  Lije,  to  save  the  coach.  Some  poor 
cuss  has  lost  a good  team.” 


168 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


Lije  turned  his  head  slightly,  and  called  to  some  one 
within.  ''  These  men  have  met  your  mules ; you ’d  bet- 
ter come  out  and  talk  to  ’em.’’  A man  with  a slouched 
hat  came  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  I ’ve  heern  enough,” 
said  he,  sullenly ; they ’ve  gone  over  the  Grade.  I knew 
it.  Just  my  luck.”  He  sauntered  across  the  road,  be- 
hind the  stage. 

Say,”  said  Stephen  to  the  toll-keeper,  you  got  any 
buckskin  handy  ? I ’ve  lost  the  popper  o’  my  whip-lash.” 

I ’ll  slit  ye  a piece  off  o’  my  huntin’-shirt,”  replied 
the  accommodating  Elijah ; step  right  in  hyar,  an’  git 
the  benefit  o’  the  candle.” 

Stephen  descended  and  entered  the  hovel,  leaving 
Philip  on  the  box  in  a brown  study,  which  prevented 
him  from  noticing  that  the  man  in  a slouched  hat  was 
the  same  who  had  been  at  Campbell’s  earlier  in  the 
evening;  and,  moreover,  that  this  man,  keeping  the 
coach  between  him  and  the  candle-light,  approached 
the  corner  where  Mr.  Howe  sat,  and  entered  into  a rapid 
whispered  colloquy  with  him. 

What  infernal  new  foolery  is  this  ? ” said  Howe. 

Can’t  you  wait  till  to-morrow,  but  you  must  be  trying 
it  on  with  teamsters  and  mules  ? The  whole  country 
will  be  up  after  you.” 

''  Now  don’t  you  worry.  Cap,”  replied  the  other . ''We 
got  a good  haul  in  money  and  dust,  and  we  are  holding 
on  to  the  teamster  for  a while,  so  he  can’t  make  a fuss 
about  it  till  we  get  well  out  of  the  country.  Besides, 
some  o’  the  boys  wanted  the  mules  to  ride ; said  they 
could  n’t  make  tracks  afoot.  I was  jest  a goin’  on  down 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


169 


to  old  man  CampbelFs,  with  the  critters,  to  keep  ’em  out 
o’  the  way  for  a day  or  two,  an’  I hed  n’t  more  ’n  stopped 
here,  to  drink  along  with  Lije  Pickering,  — had  to  do 
that,  if  I calc’lated  to  play  teamster  on  him,  you  know. 
Cap,  — an’  I was  hevin’  a friendly  game  o’  seven-up  with 
him,  to  keep  his  attention  off  o’  them  mules,  for  fear  he ’d 
recognize  ’em,  — and  down  come  that  land-slide,  an’  that 
’s  the  last  o’  them  mules.  I ’m  most  afeared  to  go  back  to 
the  boys.  They  ’ll  be  down  on  me,  sure ; but  it  warn’t 
my  fault.  I ain’t  no  land-slide.” 

''No;  but  you’re  a fool,”  said  Howe,  angrily;  "and 
so  are  all  the  rest.  However,  it ’s  too  late  to  talk  about 
that.  Mind  what  I tell  you:  if  any  one  of  you  does 
any  more  of  this  fooling  beforehand,  I ’ll  lead  the  vigi- 
lants  to  hang  him  myself.  Every  one  of  you  has  the 
rope  round  his  neck  already,  if  I choose  to  say  the  word. 
Now  listen,  and  hold  your  tongue.  Have  everybody  on 
the  Grade  above  here  to-morrow  night.  You  know  what 
to  do  and  how  to  do  it.  Andy  Campbell  will  be  there ; 
send  a man  half-way  to  meet  him  and  fetch  him.” 

" What ’s  the  use  of  lettin’  in  any  more  ? ” grumbled 
the  slouched  hat ; " there ’s  too  many  claims  for  the  pay- 
streak  already.  Andy  Campbell ’s  on  it,  too,  — is  he  ? 
What ’s  the  use  of  Andy  Campbell  ? ” 

" He  knows  nothing  about  it,”  replied  Howe,  impa- 
tiently ; " but  I mean  to  have  him  on  the  spot,  without  a 
mashr 

"Oho!  I see  it,”  ejaculated  the  inferior  villain,  with 
complacency ; adding,  in  a tone  of  profound  admiration, 
"You  are  a sharp  one,  Cap,  — you  are.” 

8 


170 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


Howe  turned  away  from  him  with  an  impatient  air ; 
and  as  Stephen  emerged  from  the  hut  at  this  junctuTe, 
the  slouched  hat  stole  around  the  stage  again,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  shadows. 

The  colloquy  above  reported,  with  as  much  fidelity  to 
truth  as  my  fixed  determination  to  exclude  profanity 
from  these  pages  will  permit,  was  overheard  by  no  one 
except  the  slumberous  Mr.  Johnson,  whose  presence  was 
unobserved  by  one  of  the  speakers,  and  disregarded  by 
the  other.  Mr.  Johnson,  having  shammed  sleep  with 
so  much  success  during  a good  part  of  the  trip,  and  being 
now  in  full  possession  of  his  case,’’  felt  himself  entitled 
to  a sincere  and  genuine  nap,  and  allowed  himself  to 
doze  in  earnest  the  remainder  of  the  way.  Howe  did 
the  same ; his  responsibilities  were  lightened  too. 

Stephen  mounted  to  his  seat  again,  gave  his  new 
''  popper  ” a couple  of  trials,  which  woke  a response  of 
lively,  snapping  echoes  among  the  rocks,  and  the  coach 
resumed  its  slow  ascent.  After  a moment’s  silence,  the 
driver  said : There’s  some  deviltry  afoot.  Lije  Picker- 

ing says  that  man  wasn’t  the  rightful  owner  of  the 
mules,  he  knows ; as  near  as  he  could  tell  from  a look  at 
’em,  it  was  Joe  Crockett’s  team.  And  as  near  as  I could 
tell  from  a look  at  Am,  it ’s  the  same  skulking  villain 
that  played  pardner  to  Hank  Howe  five  hours  ago  at  the 
Plome  Station.  I can’t  seem  to  make  it  out.” 

After  this,  conversation  flagged.  For  two  hours  they 
pursued  their  monotonous  course,  pulling  up  one  incline 
after  another,  and  pausing  occasionally  to  breathe  the 
horses.  As  the  summit  of  the  pass  was  reached,  the 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


171 


keen  wind  from  the  snow-fields  swept  over  them,  chill- 
ing them  to  the  bone ; but  the  dawn  was  near,  and  in 
the  first  white  glow  of  the  east  — the  whiteness  that 
precedes  the  flush  and  the  gold  — there  was  promise  of 
warmth.  A vast  expanse  of  mountain  peaks  and  domes, 
crested  with  snow,  like  the  foam-crowned  billows  of  a 
petrified  sea,  rose  on  every  side.  Some  of  them  already 
caught  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  and  were  waking  into 
the  glory  of  day,  foot  by  foot,  as  the  shadows  retreated 
down  their  sides.  One  fancied,  almost,  that  one  could 
hear  them  murmur  the  mysterious  music  with  which  the 
statue  of  Memnon  was  fabled  to  thrill,  at  the  life-giving 
touch  of  day. 

The  summit  was  passed,  and  the  descent  on  the  other 
side  began  in  a gentle  slope.  It  was  not  the  main  divide 
of  the  Sierra  which  had  been  crossed.  That  lay  still 
farther  east,  beyond  Goldopolis  altogether.  But  this 
eastern  declivity  of  the  spur  surmounted  by  the  road 
was  sufficiently  exposed  to  give  the  traveller,  for  a few 
rapturous  moments,  the  picture  of  the  morning  sky.  As 
the  coach  went  whirling  down  the  road,  guided  by  Ste- 
phen’s watchful  eye  and  firm  hand,  the  heavenly  picture 
unrolled  itself  above  the  white  horizon  of  the  Sierra, 
until,  just  as  the  disk  of  the  sun  lifted  its  edge  into  view, 
spreading  right  and  left  the  long  rays  so  finely  called  by 
the  Psalmist the  wings  of  the  morning,”  a sudden  turn 
in  the  road  shut  out  the  gorgeous  scenery  of  heaven,  and 
substituted  for  it  the  rude  aspect  of  a mountain  canon, 
into  which  a town  had  been  crowded,  like  putty  plas- 
tered in  a crack.  This  was  Goldopolis,  nee  Knucklesville. 


172 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

GOLDOPOLIS. 

The  appearance  of  a gold-inining  camp  is  unmistaka- 
ble. Aside  from  the  traces  and  the  implements  of  this 
peculiar  occupation, — heaps  of  bowlders,  stacked  by  the 
side  of  a disembowelled  gulch ; derricks ; sluice-boxes ; 
vast  excavations;  or,  if  quartz-mining  be  the  branch 
pursued,  prospecting-pits,  dotting  the  hills  like  a legacy 
of  small-pox ; dumps  of  waste  rock,  opposite  the  mouths 
of  tunnels;  engine-houses,  with  ceaselessly  smoking 
chimneys,  telling  of  pumps  and  reels  at  work  night  and 
day  to  lift  from  the  depths  men  and  rock  and  water; 
windlasses,  marking  the  shafts  of  humbler  enterprises ; 
stamp-mills,  perhaps,  rattling  if  the  stamps  are  few,  roar- 
ing if  they  are  many ; the  stream,  red  with  the  tailings 
of  the  diggings,  or  white  with  the  tailings  of  quartz- 
mines, — aside  from  all  these,  I say,  there  is  the  town  it- 
self, telling  its  story  of  eager  activity,  of  sanguine  spec- 
ulation, of  strange  vicissitudes.  The  houses  crowded 
wherever  they  may  be  most  convenient  to  the  work  of 
their  inhabitants ; the  mines  right  among  them ; the 
main  street  accommodating  itself  to  the  progress  of  min- 
ing, here  retreating  before  the  hydraulic  nozzle,  there 
warped  and  twisted  by  the  intrusion  of  a dump ; * the 

* A pile  of  refuse  ore,  so  poor  as  to  be  not  worth  working. 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


173 


parallel  streets,  mere  precarious  terraces  along  the  steep 
hillside,  where  the  miners’  cabins  adhere  as  if  they  had 
been  spattered  there,  and  were  in  danger  of  trickling 
down ; the  cross-streets,  mere  precipices,  alleviated  with 
occasional  flights  of  rude  stairs;  the  saloons,  of  unex- 
pected splendor  and  astounding  number ; the  one  or  two 
handsome  stone  buildings,  monuments  of  ''  Eastern  cap- 
ital ” (marking  its  graves,  as  monuments  should  do) ; the 
swarm  and  bustle  when  water  is  plenty  and  the  claims 
pay  well,  or  when  investment  is  active  and  speculation 
rife;  the  sepulchral  desolation  when  the  dry  season 
either  of  nature  or  of  finance  has  set  in,  and  particularly 
when  the  rumors  of  new  discoveries  elsewhere,  reviving 
the  hopes  of  the  adventurous  pioneers,  have  caused  a 
stampede  of  population,  leaving  a community  of  mourn- 
ful store-keepers,  despairing  croakers,  infatuated  persist- 
ers  in  dubious  enterprises,  and  cool,  shrewd  gleaners  and 
wreckers,  who  take  the  opportunity  to  acquire  what 
everybody  else  is  wildly  anxious  to  abandon, — these  are 
the  marks  of  the  gold-mining  village,  well  termed  a 
camp,”  during  the  period  when  it  has  ceased  to  be  a 
congregation  of  tents  and  temporary  cabins,  and  before 
the  establishment  of  permanent  mining,  reinforced  by 
agriculture,  has  given  it  a definite  expectation  of  pro- 
longed existence.  A few  California  towns,  like  Grass 
Valley,  have  outlived  this  stage,  and  assumed  a more 
enduring  aspect ; but  even  these  cannot  obliterate  the 
traces  of  their  boisterous  youth.  Most  of  the  mining- 
hamlets,  new  or  old,  possess  to  some  extent  the  features 
I have  outlined.  Goldopolis  had  them  all,  except  the 


174 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


signs  of  extensive  qnartz-mining.  The  causes  of  this 
pervading  similarity  (which  is  not  found  in  agricultural 
or  commercial  towns)  are,  first,  the  nature  of  the  surface, 
which  is  usually  rugged  and  precipitous ; secondly,  the 
nature  of  the  occupation,  which  is  exciting,  largely  spec- 
ulative, and  intermittent,  fluctuating  from  intense  indus- 
try, with  large  immediate  gain  (filling  the  miner’s  pocket 
with  coin  or  dust  which  he  wastes  as  lightly  as  he  wins), 
to  moody  idleness  and  destitution ; thirdly,  the  nature 
of  the  laws,  which  make  this  industry  supreme,  and  bend 
to  its  necessities  all  other  considerations.  Great  pains 
is  usually  taken  to  select  for  a cemetery  some  locality 
not  likely  to  be  required  for  mining  purposes ; but  it  has 
happened  within  my  knowledge  that  a funeral  proces- 
sion, arriving  at  the  open  grave,  was  w^arned  off  by  the 
jubilant  sexton,  who  had  struck  a vein  ” while  digging, 
and  located  a claim.”  I have  a vague  remembrance 
that  the  indignant  relatives  of  the  deceased  insisted  upon 
a share  of  the  location,  because  the  prospecting  had  been 
done  under  their  orders ; but  I am  not  positive  as  to 
that. 

These  causes  combine  to  make  most  mining-towns  dis- 
agreeable places  of  residence,  and  the  result  is  indiffer- 
ence on  the  part  of  the  community  to  all  considerations 
other  than  those  of  necessity  or  temporary  convenience. 
Nobody  purposes  to  stay  long;  nobody  considers  the 
place  as  home,  except  in  the  liberal  sense  of  that  word 
in  vogue  among  the  claimants  to  homestead  lands  ” on 
oiir  agricultural  public  domain,  who  build  the  shanty  re- 
quired by  law,  and  dwell  in  it  ''  constructively  ” for  the 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


175 


necessary  period,  on  the  convenient  theory  that a man’s 
home  is  wherever  he  keeps  his  boots.”  By  the  time  it 
has  become  certain  that  the  district  will  support  a per- 
manent industry,  it  is  generally  too  late  to  reform  the 
original  hap-hazard  plan  of  the  town. 

Goldopolis  never  had  been  solidly  prosperous  since  it 
dropped  its  homely  old  name  of  Knucklesville.  The 
speculation  that  was  coming  had  not  yet  fairly  come ; 
and  a good  deal  of  the  honest  labor  had  oozed  away,  or 
evaporated,  under  a succession  of  dry  seasons.  It  was 
known,  however,  that  much  ground  of  value  yet  re- 
mained untouched  in  the  gulch,  and  a successful  opera- 
tor from  the  Yuba  valley,  after  panning  ” for  a week  or 
two  samples  of  dirt  from  the  high  bank,  had  concluded 
that  it  would  pay  to  bring  in  water,  and  “ pipe  that  bluff 
down.”  So  he  had  proposed  a subscription  in  the  town, 
to  build  a ditch  which  should  bring  abundance  of  water 
from  a larger  stream.  But  nobody  subscribed ; whereat 
the  gentleman  from  Yuba  had  vigorously  cursed  the 
community,  and  announced  that  he  would  do  the  thing 
at  his  own  expense,  and  take  it  out  of  them  in  high 
water-rates.  The  work  was  now  going  forward ; and  the 
weekly  ''  Goldopolitan  ” (sole  relic  of  three  dailies)  was 
regularly  alluding  to  the  owner  as  our  enterprising  fel- 
low-citizen.” Of  course  the  editor  was  prepared,  when  the 
ditch,  completed,  should  no  longer  be  a source  of  dis- 
bursement in  the  town,  keeping  business  alive,  to  assail 
the  Shylock  who  held  the  water  supply,  by  virtue  of  an 
outrageous  monopoly,  so  high  as  to  strangle  in  its  cra- 
dle the  incalculable  wealth  of  this  entire  gulch.”  But 


176 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


meanwhile  faith  as  to  the  gulch  and  hope  as  to  the  ditch 
kept  the  citizens  from  panic  at  least,  and  made  them 
patient  to  wait  for  good  times  close  at  hand.  True,  there 
was  a strong  attraction  caused  by  the  discoveries  over 
at  Dead  Man’s  Gulch ; but  the  place  was  too  near,  and 
it  was  too  easy  to  verify  or  disprove  the  stories  told  of 
the  rewards  of  labor  over  there.  If  the  same  had  been 
reported  of  some  place  in  British  Columbia  or  Arizona, 
away  would  have  gone  two  thirds  of  the  able-bodied 
men,  to  try  their  fortune  once  more  in  the  new  Eldorado. 
But  Dead  Man’s  Gulch,  just  round  the  corner  only,  as  it 
were,  was  too  familiar  to  them.  It  was  not  worth  while 
to  sell  out  stocks,  supplies,  houses,  and  claims,  just  to  go 
to  that  gulch ; hence  the  stampede  that  might  have  been 
feared  did  not  take  place.  So  the  people  hung  on,” 
living  upon  their  savings  or  their  hopes,  doing  what 
could  be  done  with  the  scanty  supply  of  water  in  the 
creek,  prospecting  for  ledges  on  the  mountains,  or  loaf- 
ing about  the  streets.  The  shop-keepers  gave  liberal 
credit,  as  merchants  in  the  mining-regions  always  do 
under  such  circumstances,  knowing  that  the  poorest  cus- 
tomer will  pay  like  a prince  when  his  luck  turns,  and 
willing  to  help  him  along  with  flour  or  beans,  bacon, 
candles,  gunpowder,  and  boots,  lest  he  fall  into  despair, 
and  inaugurate  a depopulation  of  the  camp.  The  saloon- 
keepers, on  the  other  hand,  did  not  give  credit.  Some 
of  them  moved  away ; the  rest  were  ready  to  go  as  soon 
as  they  should  hear  of  a promising  new,  thirsty  camp ; 
a few  stood  their  ground,  finding  the  business  not  alto- 
gether unprofitable,  after  the  departure  of  so  many  rivals. 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


177 


But  the  gambling  and  hard  drinking  and  fighting  fell 
off  notably,  to  the  great  improvement  of  the  public 
peace. 

The  coach,  having  paused  at  the  post-office,  and  de- 
livered a mail-bag  to  the  sleepy  clerk,  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  hotel.  One  or  two  early  risers  stood  on  the  wide 
porch.  The  community  in  general  was  asleep,  having 
been  made  aware,  the  night  before,  by  the  telegram 
posted  at  Wells  Fargo’s  office,  that  the  coming  passen- 
gers comprised  only  J ohnson  and  Eussell  — through.” 
Through  passengers  were  not  an  attraction  sufficient  to 
keep  Goldopolis  awake,  or  make  it  get  up  at  sunrise.  So 
only  the  landlord,  the  express-agent,  and  one  of  those 
chronic  loafers  who  are  always  on  hand  when  anything 
happens,  however  insignificant, — born  to  be  newspaper 
‘"locals,”  and  thwarted  by  the  lack  of  the  necessary 
newspaper, — received  the  coach. 

J ust  before  pulling  up,  Stephen  Moore  said  to  Philip 
Eussell,  in  a cordially  regretful  tone, ""  I suppose  you  ’ll 
go  on,  after  breakfast.  There ’s  no  use  o’  making  many 
words  about  it;  and  I don’t  generally  worry  myself 
about  my  passengers.  Good  friends  with  us,  one  trip, 
and  never  see  ’em  again ; it ’s  all  in  the  natural  course. 
But  the  fact  is,  I ’ve  rather  froze  to  you,  Phil ; you  ’re 
the  first  man  I ’ve  struck  that  I wanted  to  own.  If  I 
only  had  time  to  unharness  myself  here,  I’d  like  to 
travel  pardners  with  you.  It ’s  high  time  I got  out  o’ 
this,  anyhow.  I’m  running  down,  and  it’s  strange  I 
did  n’t  find  it  out  before.  But  somehow  it  comes  over 
me  all  of  a sudden,  along  of  talking  with  you.” 


178 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


The  operation  of  stopping  and  unloading  the  coach 
interrupted  Stephen’s  confidence  and  prevented  Philip’s 
reply.  The  driver,  indeed,  seemed  desirous  not  to  return 
to  the  subject.  After  turning  over  the  treasure-box  to 
the  express-agent,  and  the  empty  coach  to  a boy,  who 
proudly  drove  six-in-hand  to  the  stable,  he  walked  to  the 
end  of  the  porch,  and  stood  alone,  gazing  moodily  into 
the  morning  sky.  It  was  a moment  of  painful  revela- 
tion to  him,  in  which  he  had  a vision  of  what  was  and 
what  might  have  been,  — an  overwhelming  consciousness 
of  powers  unemployed  and  precious  years  slipping  away. 
What  had  all  these  wanderings  in  many  lands  come  to 
at  last  ? Driving  down  a hill  every  afternoon,  and  up 
again  at  night ; sleeping  all  the  forenoon  to  get  ready 
for  the  monotonous  duty.  How  he  must  have  changed 
to  be  willing  to  keep  up  this  round  of  drudgery  for 
so  many  months  ! Even  the  thought  of  Kate  Campbell, 
the  daily  sight  of  whom  had  doubtless  contributed  much 
to  this  contentment,  was  now  powerless  to  quell  the 
restless  desire  that  awoke  within  him.  “Lucky,  after 
all,”  he  muttered,  “ that  Kate  did  n’t  close  on  that  bar- 
gain. I ain’t  the  man  to  settle  down ; and  we  should 
have  found  it  out  too  late  for  comfort.” 

Philip  approached  him.  “ Steve,”  said  he,  “ do  you 
mean  what  you  said  about  travelling  with  me  ? ” 

Steve  nodded. 

“ Would  you  go  away  and  leave  Miss  Campbell  ? ” 
Another  nod.  “ Yes ; if  I left  her  safe,  an’  she  had 
no  need  o’  me.” 

“ Well,  then,  I ’ll  wait  for  you.  In  fact,  I ’ll  ridaback 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


179 


with  you  this  afternoon.  I should  like  to  go  down  that 
Grade ! ’’ 

(So  you  would,  Mr.  Eussell,  by  reason  of  the  Home 
Station  at  the  bottom  of  it !) 

''  All  right,’'  said  Stephen,  with  unmistakable  pleasure, 
extending  his  hand ; put  it  there  ! ” They  shook  hands 
on  it ; and  in  this  simple  fashion  was  ratified  a partner- 
ship the  full  meaning  of  which  Philip  Eussell  probably 
did  not  realize,  though  his  more  experienced  friend  un- 
derstood it  well.  These  partnerships  among  miners  and 
pioneers  are  marriages  of  men ; they  mean  mutual  faith- 
fulness, community  of  labor  and  peril  and  gain,  heroic 
defence,  even  to  death.  Formed  and  dissolved  by  simple 
consent,  they  stand,  while  they  stand  at  all,  on  the  firm- 
est foundations  of  an  honor  which  is  at  bottom  a deep 
necessity,  and  at  top  an  all-controlling  sentiment  of  pio- 
neer life.  In  this  instance,  it  is  true,  there  was  to  be  no 
full  community  of  goods.  Philip  was  an  employee,  un- 
der pay;  Stephen  would  be  his  own  master,  and  was 
provided  with  money  enough,  saved  out  of  small  ven- 
tures in  the  barter  of  mining-claims,  to  pay  his  share,  of 
the  expenses.  But  he  felt  that,  in  all  other  respects, 
independence  of  his  partner,  while  the  partnership 
should  last,  would  be  treason.  What  would  come  of 
this  temporary  relationship  he  did  not  know ; he  hoped 
that  it  might  in  some  way  open  the  door  for  him  into 
the  larger  world  where  he  yearned  again  to  be,  — the 
world  of  great  thoughts  and  great  affairs ; the  world  to 
which  belonged  his  old  friend  Morton  and  his  new  friend 
Philip. 


180 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Give  US  a look  at  that  photograph  by  daylight/’  said 
Stephen,  suddenly.  He  took  the  picture  from  Philip's 
hand,  and  studied' it  intently  for  a moment ; then,  return- 
ing it,  said,  Cap  Morton 's  a lucky  man.  Come,  pard ; 
you  and  I must  take  to  our  bunks,  — that  is,  unless  you 
are  hungry.  Best  way  is  to  sleep  till  twelve  o'clock,  and 
then  take  a square  meal.  Start  at  five  in  the  afternoon, 
and  get  down  to  Andy's  before  eight,  sure.  We  can 
get  a good  supper  there,  you  know.  Kate ’s  a famous 
cook." 

They  parted  to  go  to  their  respective  rooms.  Philip, 
worn  out  with  the  long  journey  from  San  Francisco,  and 
particularly  with  the  excitement  of  the  last  evening  and 
night,  threw  himself  on  his  bed  without  undressing,  and 
fell  into  a heavy  sleep.  Stephen  went  off  to  his  nap  as 
a matter  of  daily  business,  pausing  only,  on  the  way,  to 
exchange  a word  with  the  host,  who  stood  behind  his 
bar,  disconsolately  mixing  a single  cocktail  for  Mr.  Har- 
rison Howe,  and  recalling  the  days  when  the  arrival  of 
the  coach  was  regularly  the  signal  for  the  appearance  of 
a long  rank  before  that  now  almost  superfluous  counter, 
each  defining  with  prompt  decision  ''what  he  would 
take.”  The  landlord  had  but  one  eye,  having  lost  the 
other  in  debate  some  years  before,  when  times  were 
good.  A surgeon  down  at  the  Bay  had  provided  him 
with  a glass  eye  which  was  a perfect  match  to  the  re- 
maining organ ; and  the  success  of  this  operation  had 
led  the  postmaster,  who  conducted  also  a book-store 
(novels  and  playing-cards)  and  a drug-store  (mainly  bit- 
ters and  blue-pills),  to  import  on  speculation  a variegated 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


181 


lot  of  glass  eyes,  in  the  expectation  of  future  debates  on 
optics.  Unfortunately,  the  man  who  next  lost  an  eye 
was  the  landlord  himself ; and  the  eye  he  lost  was  his 
artificial  one.  So  he  was  supplied  by  the  postmaster 
with  a new  one,  which  did  not  correspond  with  the  origi- 
nal sample.  ^^Laid  in  my  stock,'’  explained  the  post- 
master, ''  to  provide  for  every  man  in  camp  ; but  of  course 
I never  thought  of  you."  Hence  the  landlord  now 
appeared  with  one  small  twinkling  greenish-gray  eye, 
serviceable  but  not  ornamental,  and  one  lucid,  contem- 
plative bluish-gray  eye,  ornamental  but  not  serviceable. 

Judge,"  said  Stephen,  declining  with  a gesture  the 
offered  bottle  of  particular  old  rye,  is  Joe  Crockett  in 
town  ? " 

‘'You  must  'a'  met  him,"  replied  the  Judge,  lifting  the 
glass  he  was  mixing,  and  examining  it  with  his  practica- 
ble eye  to  ascertain  if  the  sugar  was  dissolved;  "he 
started  from  here  with  his  mule-team  and  a back-action 
along  in  the  afternoon." 

"Didn't  exactly  meet  Aim,"  rejoined  Stephen;  "but 
you  bet  we  did  meet  the  mules ; and  anxiety  ain't  no 
term  to  express  the  state  o'  mind  that  agitated  them,  — 
hey.  Hank  ? " 

Mr.  Howe  assented  without  special  enthusiasm,  and 
Steve  continued.  "Fact  is,  the  mules  have  gone  over 
the  Grade,  and  a Blake's  crusher  would  n't  break  'em  any 
finer.  They  're  all  in  a pulp,  down  there  in  the  holler. 
Strange,  now,  that  Joe  Crockett  should  'a'  lent  his  mules 
to  a galoot  with  a slouched  hat  that  he  happened  to  meet 
on  the  Grade." 


182 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Howe  turned  away,  after  tossing  off  his  cocktail,  and 
pretended  not  to  hear  more ; while  Stephen,  struck  with 
the  sudden  notion  of  consulting  Mr.  Johnson  on  some 
of  these  little  matters,  looked  about  for  that  worthy,  but 
in  vain,  and  continued,  cheerily,  ''Well,  Judge,  I Ve  got 
no  time  to  waste  a shooting  off  my  mouth  without  a 
target.  So  I dl  turn  in  till  noon.  The  young  man  from 
the  Bay  goes  back  with  me ; so  you  can  lay  yourself  out 
on  a patent  combined  breakfast  and  dinner.’’  Whereat 
the  Judge  winked  over  his  glass  eye,  — the  only  variation 
of  expression  possible  in  that  quarter,  — and  the  driver 
departed. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Johnson  was  affably  chatting  with 
Wells  Fargo’s  agent  in  the  express-office,  which  occupied 
two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  hotel  building,  the 
front  one  opening  on  the  piazza  through  double  doors, 
surmounted  with  the  familiar  sign  of  the  company,  — 
white  letters  on  a blue  ground,  or  let  us  say,  to  be  cor- 
rectly heraldic,  argent  in  a fesse  azure,  — minus  the  rest 
of  the  escutcheon.  Mr.  J ohnson  seemed  to  have  a liking 
for  private  talks  in  back  rooms ; there  he  was  again,  with 
the  door  locked  behind  him,  and  the  agent  argent  (that 
is  to  say,  very  white)  before  him. 

" I see  what  you  mean  to  do,”  said  he,  approvingly. 
" You  will  send  Mr.  Howe  as  messenger,  to  guard  the 
treasure ; but  you  will  All  the  box  with  nails,  instead  of 
treasure.  Luckily  there  was  a couple  of  kegs  of  nails 
sent  up  by  the  stage  for  the  horses.  One  of  them  will 
be  more  than  enough.  And  you  won’t  say  anything  to 
Mr.  Howe  about  it,  — an  excellent  plan.  Because,  you 


GOLDOPOLIS. 


183 


see,  if  Mr.  Howe  gets  away,  you  might  be  held  responsi- 
ble ; whereas,  if  he  is  caught,  you  can  testify  that  you 
helped  to  catch  him.  And  you  intend  to  resign  your 
place  as  agent ; but  you  will  consent  to  serve  one  day 
longer,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  assisting  the  company, 
provided  I will  relieve  you  of  the  trouble  of  taking 
care  of  the  company’s  letters  and  money.  A very 
good  plan  indeed.  You  might  write  the  resignation 
now.” 

The  agent  obeyed  this  friendly  suggestion  in  silence, 
stammering,  as  he  handed  the  letter  to  Mr.  Johnson,  I 
suppose  you  — you  think  you  have  got  something  against 
me ; but  I have  n’t  done  anything.” 

‘'No,  nor  won’t  do  anything,”  replied  the  cheerful 
adviser.  “ Among  friends,  you  know,  there ’s  no  evidence 
against  you,  unless  you  make  it  between  this  and  sun- 
down. It ’s  a mere  point  for  you  and  Howe,  which  goes 
back  on  the  other  first.  If  he  thought  he  could  gain  by 
it,  he ’d  leave  you  in  the  scrape,  and  never  stop  to  see 
what  became  of  you.  I shall  leave  after  breakfast  by 
the  Virginia  coach ; but  I shall  come  back  as  soon  as  the 
other  coach  is  gone,  and  stay  all  night  with  you.  The 
arrangements  are  all  made,  but  you  would  n’t  care  to 
hear  about  ’em.  Howe  won’t  try  to  talk  to  you.  He 
thinks  he  may  be  watched.  While  I think  of  it,  I ’ll 
take  the  key  of  that  Virginia  box.  You  need  n’t  open 
the  treasure-box  that  comes  in  by  the  coach  this  after- 
noon. Keep  it  here,  and  send  on  your  extra  box  instead 
of  it,  with  the  wrought-iron  inside.  W.  F.  & Co.,  carriers 
of  the  U.  S.  nails!”  Mr.  Johnson  chuckled  over  his 


184 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


little  joke ; then  took  the  padlock-key  to  which  he  had 
referred;  locked  the  safe,  and  took  the  key  of  that; 
and  at  last  departed,  with  the  final  remark,  ''You ’ll 
have  to  be  out,  if  anybody  wants  to  cash  a draft 
to-day.” 


DOWN  THE  GKADE. 


185 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

DOWN  THE  GRADE. 

After  the  departure  of  the  coach  from  the  Home 
Station,  described  in  a former  chapter,  Andrew  Camp- 
bell knocked  at  his  daughter's  door.  Kate  was  not  in 
bed,  but  seated  by  the  window,  listening  pensively  to 
the  noise  of  hoofs  and  wheels  as  it  receded  towards  the 
hills.  As  he  entered  in  response  to  her  call,  she  looked 
around  inquiringly. 

“ My  darling,"  said  he,  in  tones  of  agony  and  terror, 
''  we  must  fly  again.  All  is  lost.  That  man  knew  me ; 
fool  that  I was,  why  did  I not  know  him  at  first  ? " 

What  is  it,  father  ? What  is  lost  ? What  man,  — 
not  Mr.  Eussell  ? " 

Eussell ! " cried  Andrew,  was  the  other  one  Eus- 
sell ? Worse  and  worse  ! Let  us  go  at  once,  — here,  — 
now ! " 

Father ! " replied  Kate,  firmly,  ^'you  must  not  speak 
so.  You  are  beside  yourself  Listen  : I will  do  what- 
ever you  wish  to-morrow.  There  is  no  need  for  such 
hurry.  If  it  is  that  Mr.  Johnson  who  has  alarmed  you, 
he  is  going  beyond  the  town ; he  said  so  at  supper.  He 
can't  be  back  for  two  days.  We  can  make  our  prepara- 
tions to-morrow,  and  leave  at  night,  after  both  the 
coachds  are  gone." 


186 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Yes,  yes ; to-morrow  night/’  said  Campbell.  I for- 
got ; I have  an  engagement  to-morrow.” 

" What  engagement  ? ” 

" I must  go  up  to  the  half-way  cabin  — to  meet  — ” 
'at  is  Mr.  Howe ! ” said  Kate,  by  a sudden  intuition. 
" 0 father ! I wish  you  would  be  more  afraid  of  him  ! ” 
" Afraid  of  him ! ” echoed  the  wretched  father,  with  a 
fierceness  born  of  pain,  " so  I am ; but  he  means  well, 
— he  means  well  by  me.  He  will  save  me,  he  says.” 

“ Save  you,  — from  what  ? — no,  no  ; don’t  look  so  ; I 
did  n’t  mean  to  ask.  You  know  I promised  never  to 
ask  you,  though  I feel  that  it  would  be  better,  far  better, 
if  you  would  tell  me  all.  Nothing  could  be  worse  than 
not  knowing  ! But  you  must  n’t  talk  any  more.  Only 
go  and  sleep.  To-morrow  I will  do  anything.  Good 
night.” 

Andrew  Campbell  went  to  his  own  room,  threw  him- 
self upon  his  bed  without  undressing,  and  lay  staring 
into  the  darkness,  motionless  and  sleepless,  all  the  rest 
of  the  night.  His  daughter  took  the  matter  more 
lightly.  The  burden  of  caring  for  her  father  was  an  old 
one,  and  her  heart  was  used  to  it.  She  half  believed 
his  fears  were  imaginary.  At  all  events,  he  exaggerated 
the  secret  danger  which  shadowed  his  life.  If  it  was 
necessary,  to  please  him,  that  they  should  forsake  this 
new  home  as  they  had  forsaken  the  old  one,  very  well ; 
the  sacrifice  was  but  incidental  to  the  greater  sacrifice 
of  her  whole  life’s  hopes  which  she  had  deliberately 
resolved  to  make.  So  Kate  prayed  in  the  dark  — 
doubly  in  the  dark  — and  fell  asleep,  to  dream  that 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


187 


Harrison  Howe  had  carried  her  away,  while  her  father 
wrung  his  hands,  and  begged  her  to  be  quiet,  and  that 
she  was  magnificently  rescued  by  a splendid  young  fel- 
low, who  seemed  to  be  Philip  Eussell,  but  subsequently, 
by  a whimsical  metamorphosis,  proved  to  be  Stephen 
Moore. 

The  next  day,  little  was  said  between  Andrew  and 
his  daughter.  His  face  was  haggard  and  set,  and  she 
thought  best  to  humor  him.  In  reply  to  her  question 
what  they  should  take  with  them,  he  replied,  What  we 
can  carry  on  horseback.”  This  troubled  her  little ; for 
she  knew  there  was  ready  money  enough.  Business  had 
been  good,  and  Kate  had  a well-filled  safe  in  her  own 
room.  Stephen  has  promised  to  help  us,”  she  thought ; 
''  I will  leave  everything  in  his  charge.  Perhaps,  when 
this  panic  is  over,  we  shall  come  back  again.” 

After  dinner,  Campbell  saddled  a horse,  and  started 
up  the  road,  in  obedience  to  the  invitation  of  Harrison 
Howe,  which  he  dared  not  resist.  Indeed,  he  looked 
forward  with  irrational  eagerness  to  the  meeting,  as 
affording  a possible  way  of  escape  from  the  terror  that 
pursued  him.  The  man's  mind  was  so  curiously  warped 
that  a plain  course,  though  open  before  him,  could  give 
him  no  hope ; but  a rescue  mysterious  as  the  peril  in- 
spired him  with  superstitious  confidence,  amounting  even 
to  courage.  He  was  ready  to  fly  into  the  jaws  of  a big 
dog,  to  escape  the  bark  of  a little  one.  As  he  rode 
slowly  up  the  Grade  in  the  slanting  sunlight  of  the  after- 
noon, his  spirits  improved. 

A stranger  stepped  from  under  the  trees  by  the  road. 


188 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


and  intercepted  him.  This  man  wore  a mask,  and  for 
an  instant  he  suspected  an  assault.  But  the  stranger 
called  him  by  name. 

''  Goin  up  the  Grade  — be  ye,  Andy  ? Goin'  up  the 
Grade  to  see  Cap'n  Howe.  Wall  now,  that’s  curus; 
the  Cap’n  says  to  me, ' Go  down  the  Grade,’  says  he ; " an’ 
you  ’ll  meet  Andy  Campbell.’  Jest  come  right  along, 
Mr.  Campbell;  an’  I’ll  es-cort  ye  to  the  Cap’n.” 

The  more  mystery  the  better.  Andrew  followed  his 
guide,  who  led  the  way  on  foot.  Once  they  met  a team. 
On  the  wagon  with  the  teamster  sat  Joe  Crockett, 
mourning  the  loss  of  his  mules,  and  bound  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canon,  to  see  what  could  be  got  in  the  way 
of  salvage  from  the  general  wreck.  Joe  had  not  dared 
to  return  at  once  to  Goldopolis  and  denounce  the  rob- 
bers who  had  kept  him  a prisoner  through  the  night, 
because  they  still  commanded  the  road  above,  and  he 
feared  for  his  life.  If  he  had  only  paused  to  talk  with 
Andrew  Campbell,  — as  he  could  easily  have  done,  since 
Campbell’s  masked  acquaintance  had  retired  into  the 
woods  as  he  approached,  — this  story  might  have  had  a 
different  end.  But  no ; Joe  rode  moodily  by,  and  Camp- 
bell did  the  same,  with  no  more  than  a nod  of  recogni- 
tion. Something  the  matter  with  Andy,”  said  Joe  to 
the  teamster.  What ’s  his  call  to  be  so  almighty  sol- 
emn. He  hain’t  lost  no  twelve  Spanish  me-ules  ! ” 

This  was  true  enough ; yet,  in  that  brief  moment,  Mr. 
Campbell  had  lost  his  last  chance  of  avoiding  the  worst 
disaster  of  his  life.  In  another  hour,  he  was  a prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  three  robbers,  all  masked.  The  guide 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


189 


who  had  betrayed  him  seemed  to  be  a spokesman  for  the 
party ; and  in  reply  to  Campbell’s  query,  what  was  the 
object  of  this  treatment,  explained  with  many  oaths 
that  his  prisoner  had  wanted  to  see  Hank  Howe,  and 
now  he  should  see  Hank  Howe.  The  blackguard,  with 
the  usual  insolence  of  a subordinate  in  the  absence  of 
his  superior,  added  some  remarks  about  that  pretty  girl 
down  at  the  Station,  — too  good  for  an  old  bilk  like 
you,”  — at  which  even  the  infant  sinews  of  Andrew 
Campbell  stiffened  into  steel  and  glowed  with  fire.  He 
sprang  towards  the  speaker,  unarmed  as  he  was ; but  a 
collision  was  prevented  by  the  interference  of  a tall, 
lank  fellow  in  a very  broad-brimmed  hat  and  a red 
shirt,  to  which  was  belted  a pair  of  canvas  overalls, 
stained  with  the  mud  of  the  diggings,  and  tucked  into 
the  legs  of  his  alligator  boots.  This  gentleman  was  a 
product  of  North  Carolina,  sublimed  in  the  Confederate 
service  during  the  war,  and  precipitated  at  its  close  on 
the  Pacific  coast.  He  had  been  lying  on  the  ground, 
with  his  big  hat  over  his  face  ; but  now  he  lazily  arose, 
and,  laying  his  hand  carelessly  on  the  handle  of  a navy 
Colt,  that  hung  from  the  middle  of  his  belt  behind, 
stalked  between  Campbell  and  his  tormentor. 

Quit ! ” said  North  Carolina,  laconically.  Tears 
like  you  done  gwine  ^ talk  too  much.” 

"'Well,  you  hain’t  no  call  to  be  a shootin’  off  your 
mouth ! ” responded  the  other,  sullenly.  " I ain’t  no 
nigger  o’  yourn.” 

" Which  I say  quit,”  drawled  the  representative  of  the 


Were  about  to. 


190 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


peanut  State;  ^'you  done  got  the  old  man  hyar,  you 
mought  let  him  rest.  Leastways  you  hold  yer  jaw 
about  the  girl.  Look  hyar ; my  name 's  Dan’l  — ” 

He  slowly  drew  his  revolver  as  he  spoke ; but  several 
of  the  gang  now  interfered,  cursing  him  for  the  impru- 
dence of  mentioning  his  name,  and  at  the  same  time 
counselling  his  opponent  to  remember  the  business  in 
hand,  and  not  spoil  everything.  So  there  was  an  armed 
truce,  and  Andy  Campbell  was  molested  no  further. 

Meanwhile  the  simple  annals  of  Goldopolis  had 
gained  another  uneventful  day.  Philip  rose  at  noon, 
refreshed  and  hungry.  At  dinner  he  met  Stephen,  but 
Mr.  Johnson  had  departed  on  the  eastward  coach.  Af- 
ter dinner  he  strolled  through  the  town  and  along  the 
banks  of  the  diggings,  observing  with  curiosity  the  rude 
form  of  mining  which  they  presented.  A few  men  only 
were  at  work,  shovelling  dirt  into  the  long  sluices 
through  which  ran  the  scanty  and  carefully  economized 
stream,  or  laboriously  lugging  and  piling  up  the  bowlders 
which  hindered  the  operations  of  pick  and  shovel.  It 
was  not  much  to  look  at ; and  he  soon  felt  as  familiar 
with  the  process  as  if  he  had  been  drudging  at  it  him- 
self for  years.  There  are  subtleties  of  skill  in  placer 
mining ; but  to  the  casual  observer  it  seems  the  dullest 
and  rudest  of  human  occupations.  Not  so  when  the 
hydraulic  pipe  and  nozzle  are  part  of  the  scene.  These 
introduce  an  element  of  excitement,  a splendid  display 
of  power.  The  crackling  stream  which  Mose  and  Sykesy, 
holding  the  butt,’'  used  to  direct  with  so  much  enthu- 
siasm, before  the  degenerate  days  of  paid  fire  depart- 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


191 


ments,  upon  the  fury  of  “ fancy  conflagrations,  was  as 
nothing  — a mere  ladies’  watering-pot  — compared  with 
the  mighty  spouts  that  thunder  from  the  hydraulic 
nozzles  of  California  to-day ; three,  five,  eight  inches  in 
diameter,  roaring  through  their  iron  mouths  under  a 
pressure  of  hundreds  of  feet  of  water-column,  and  strik- 
ing against  the  solid  bluffs  with  the  impact  and  the 
noise  of  an  artillery  battle.  The  hills  melt  away  before 
them ; bowlders  of  a ton  and  more  are  rattled  and 
thrown  about  like  pebbles  ; while  man,  no  longer  delving 
painfully  for  his  little  shovelful  of  auriferous  dirt,  stands 
by  with  a grim  smile,  his  hand  upon  the  regulating 
lever,  and  rejoices  in  the  victory  of  mind  over  gravel. 

But  hydraulics  were  not  yet  in  vogue  at  Goldopolis, 
and  Philip  found  the  half-deserted  placers  rather  te- 
dious. A brief  opportunity  for  a study  of  human  char- 
acter diverted  him  for  a time.  As  he  stood  idly  upon 
the  bank,  a seedy  individual,  who  had  reconnoitred  him 
from  afar  ever  since  he  left  the  hotel,  made  bold  to  join 
him. 

''Pity  those  hard-workin’  miners  didn’t  know,”  re- 
marked the  stranger,  confidentially,  "the  vast  mineral 
resources  o’  quartz.  Look  at  that  gulch,  sir,  and  then 
cast  your  eyes  around  on  the  glorious  Si-erra.  Any  ge- 
ologist will  tell  you  this  is  the  regular  formation.  Eeal 
igneous  fatuus  rock,”  he  added,  triumphant  in  his  mas- 
tery of  the  language  of  science.  Philip  cast  his  eyes 
around  in  the  loose  manner  suggested,  and  replied  that 
he  had  no  doubt  of  it. 

"Your  first  visit  to  our  parts,  sir  ? Probably  a geolo- 


192 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


gist  yourself  — I flatter  myself  I can  tell  a scientiflc 
gentleman  when  I see  him  — studying  up  the  forma- 
tion ? ” 

Philip  wickedly  intimated  that  he  was  looking  over 
the  country  a little  “ for  other  parties  ” ; at  which  piece 
of  information  the  seedy  stranger  brightened  to  such  an 
extent  that  he  might  be  said  to  have  passed  from  seed  to 
blossom  in  a second. 

''Now  there's  a specimen/'  said  he,  producing  from 
his  pocket  a small  piece  of  quartz,  quite  polished  with 
much  Angering,  and  showing  several  specks  and  scales 
of  gold;  " that  specimen  will  assay  a dollar  to  the  pound ; 
and  there 's  tons  of  it." 

Philip  jokingly  remarked  that  he  did  not  see  even  a 
pound  of  it ; at  which  the  exhibitor  laughed  almost  too 
heartily  for  perfect  sincerity,  and  brought  back  the  con- 
versation as  soon  as  possible  into  the  serious  scientific 
tone. 

" Where  that  came  from,"  said  he,  " tons  upon  tons. 
All  that  is  needed,  sir,  in  this  camp,  is  capital  to  devel- 
op our  vast  resources.  I shall  be  proud  and  happy  to 
show  you  some  of  our  undeveloped  riches.  A distin- 
guished geologist  like  yourself  will  recognize  the  meta- 
morphic  character  of  the  formation  at  once." 

Prom  this  he  proceeded  to  hints  of  liberal  arrange- 
ments that  could  be  made  (in  stock)  with  an  eminent 
party  who  would  report  favorably  on  the  specimen  mine. 
Philip  finally  wearied  of  the  conversation,  and,  pleading 
the  necessity  of  writing  some  letters,  left  his  fellow-sci- 
entist, and  started  towards  the  hotel,  from  which  he  had 


THE  SEEDY  GEOLOGIST. 


“ Wheiy  that  came  from^'  said  he,  ''tons  upon  tons.  All  that  is 
needed  sir,  in  this  camp,  is  capital  to  develop  cur  vast  resources. 
I shall  be  proud  and  happy  to  show  you  some  of  our  undeveloped 
riches.  A distinguished  geologist,  like  yourself,  will  recognize  the 
metamorphic  character  of  the  formation  at  once  I 


■ 9 ;■ 


. V 


.J»  , , »■  ‘ . ' "5  ' . ’ 


:'*  - -I  * 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


193 


wandered  a considerable  distance.  He  returned  by  an- 
other route,  and  as  he  strode  along,  enjoying  the  deli- 
cious mountain  air,  and  reflecting  with  amusement  upon 
the  strange  phenomenon  of  a mine  containing  tons  upon 
tons  of  quartz,  worth  a dollar  a pound,  that  could  not  be 
worked  for  want  of  capital,  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  a novel  machine.  It  consisted  of  a large  circular  bed 
cut  from  a single  stone,  provided  with  a raised  wooden 
rim,  and  a central  vertical  shaft,  with  revolving  horizon- 
tal arms.  To  these  arms  heavy  stones  were  attached  by 
chains,  so  that  when  the  apparatus,  by  means  of  a long 
lever  terminating  in  a mule,  was  set  in  motion  by  the 
circular  journey ings  of  the  mule,  the  arms  dragged  the 
stones  around  after  them  on  the  bottom  of  the  bed, 
grinding  and  mixing  in  this  way  the  slimy  mud  with 
which  the  latter  was  half  filled.  A man,  kneeling  before 
a basin  on  the  ground,  was  wringing  quicksilver  through 
a buckskin  bag.  This  rude  apparatus  was  a Spanish 
arrastra,  and  the  owner  was  straining  the  amalgam  of 
his  last  clean-up.’’ 

Strange  to  say,  this  operator  in  quartz  did  not  appear 
at  all  desirous  of  displaying  the  resources  of  the  coun- 
try, or  enlarging  upon  its  geological  character.  It  was 
only  after  Philip  had  plied  him  with  much  skill  and  pa- 
tience that  he  surrendered  so  far  as  to  explain  the  oper- 
ation of  his  machinery,  and  confess  that  it  paid  expenses 
and  a little  over. 

Of  course,  you  need  capital,”  said  Philip,  following 
the  convenient  rule  of  repeating  what  he  had  just  heard 
with  the  air  of  having  known  it  always. 


194 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


Capital ! ’’  repeated  the  sturdy  pioneer  with  scorn. 
^'No  offence,  stranger;  but  I reckon  you  must  be  one  o’ 
them  sharps  from  the  Bay.  That  ain’t  my  kind.  I take 
money  out  of  my  mine ; but  I don’t  put  nary  dollar  in, 
not  if  I know  myself.  But  I ’ll  tell  you  what ; I ’ve 
just  lost  my  pardner, — went  over  to  Angel’s,  on  a long 
spree,  and  got  hisself  killed ; the  best  man  in  the  moun- 
tains. Now,  I rather  freeze  to  you,  I do ; and  if  you’re 
on  it,  and  want  to  try  quartz-mining,  and  kin  cook,  I ’ll 
give  you  a show.” 

On  what  terms  ? ” inquired  Philip,  amused  and  curi- 
ous. 

Thar ’s  my  terms,”  responded  the  miner,  holding  out 
his  hand.  ''  When  I say  pardner,  I mean  pardner.  Di- 
vide fair  and  square,  after  every  clean-up.” 

''  But  I should  n’t  be  bringing  anything  into  the  con- 
cern, to  offset  what  you  have,”  pursued  Philip. 

The  bearded  miner  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  said, 
with  a quick  relapse  into  indifference,  ''  Good  by,  stran- 
ger ; I reckon  we  should  n’t  get  along  so  well,  after  all. 
You  folks  from  the  Bay  don’t  samy  the  nater  of  a pard- 
ner, and  you  don’t  know  the  vally  of  a man!'  Whereat 
he  turned  to  his  buckskin  bag  again,  and  declined  fur- 
ther conversation.  But  Philip  insisted  on  shaking  hands 
with  him;  and  that  led  to  a satisfactory  explanation, 
after  which  they  parted  friends. 

Philip  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  spent  a couple  of 
hours  in  writing.  This  time  his  letter  to  Alice  was 
longer  than  his  letter  to  the  newspaper.  The  latter  con- 
tained a very  knowing  account  (considering  the  iiiexpe- 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


195 


rience  of  the  writer)  of  the  social  and  industrial  condi- 
tion of  Goldopolis,  with  a thrilling  description  of  the 
adventure  on  the  Grade.  But  to  Alice  he  poured  out 
his  more  private  experience, — his  acquaintance  and  ce- 
mented friendship  with  Stephen  Moore,  whom  he  painted 
in  heroic  colors  ; and  his  discovery,  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  Home  Station,  of  a perfect  jewel  in  the  form  of  a 
young  lady.  He  depicted  pathetically  the  character  of 
Andy  Campbell,  and  enthusiastically  that  of  his  daugh- 
ter. After  finishing  the  letter,  he  read  it  over,  and, 
moved  by  an  undefined  desire  to  counteract  the  effect  of 
some  too  cordial  expressions,  added  this  postscript : — 

''  Don’t  think  me  in  danger  of  falling  in  love  with 
Miss  Campbell.  To  tell  the  truth,  I have  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  she  is  attached  to  that  glorious  fellow,  Stephen 
Moore.  And  Stephen  is  my  ' pardner,’  now,  you  know. 
I must  respect  his  rights.” 

He  looked  at  the  last  words  with  a painful  perception 
of  their  truth.  Yes;  his  obligations  to  Stephen,  and 
their  new  bond  of  friendship,  would  make  it  his  duty 
to  let  Stephen  win  Kate  Campbell  if  he  could,  and  not 
to  lift  a finger  or  breathe  a word  to  hinder  it.  The  post- 
script looked  like  a vow ; he  was  half  o’  mind  to  tear  it 
off.  Not  that  he  had  resolved  to  try  his  own  chances 
with  Kate,  but  he  disliked  to  be  bound  not  to  do  so. 
The  thought  of  not  gaining  her  love,  of  seeing  another 
gain  it,  stung  and  stirred  him  more  than  any  vague 
dream  of  hope  could  have  done.  He  meditated  sternly 
for  a while,  then  quickly  sealed  the  letter,  postscript  and 
all,  and,  walking  out  on  the  porch,  where  the  letter-box 


196 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


of  Wells  Fargo  hung  invitingly,  dropped  it  through  the 
slit,  out  of  sight,  and  went  away  wishing  he  had  not  been 
quite  so  fast. 

But  the  bustle  of  preparation  for  starting  required  his 
attention.  The  coach  from  the  East  had  come  in  empty, 
but  there  were  three  inside  passengers  booked  from 
Goldopolis.  As  they  took  their  places  in  the  down 
coach,  Philip  thought  they  were  a rough-looking  lot, 
though  he  did  not  suspect  them  to  be,  what  they  really 
were,  confederates  of  Hank  Howe’s.  This  was  a part  of 
the  gambler’s  plan  of  which  even  the  Goldopolis  agent 
had  not  been  informed,  and  which  the  astute  Mr.  John- 
son had  not  suspected. 

Philip  climbed  to  an  outside  seat.  The  agent,  who 
had  been  invisible  all  day,  came  out,  dragging  a heavy 
treasure-box,  too  heavy  for  him  to  lift  alone ; and  Howe, 
who  had  likewise  spent  the  day  in  retirement  (or  rather 
in  drumming  up  passengers  for  the  trip),  and  who  now 
stood  on  the  porch,  armed  and  equipped  as  messenger, 
to  guard  the  bullion,  stepped  forward  to  assist  him. 
The  agent  avoided  meeting  the  eye  of  the  gambler,  until 
the  latter,  over-confident  in  his  deep-laid  scheme,  mut- 
tered in  his  ear,  ''  What ’s  the  matter  with  you  ? Do 
you  want  me  to  suspect  you,  and  tell  on  you  to  the 
Company  ? I can  do  it,  you  know ; I ’ve  got  the 
proofs ; and  I will,  too,  unless  you  play  fair.” 

This  threat  was  not  without  effect.  The  agent  looked 
him  in  the  face,  and  said  slowly,  ''  I ’ll  not  trouble  you 
to  sell  me  out,  Mr.  Howe ; you  will  find  it  is  all  right.” 

A thought  of  treachery  crossed  the  gambler’s  mind, 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


197 


but  was  at  once  rejected.  Everything  was  as  he  had 
meant  it  to  be : his  three  men  in  the  coach ; three  wait- 
ing for  him  on  the  road  ; the  treasure  indubitably  on 
board,  and  plenty  of  it ; Campbell  probably  a prisoner, 
and  Kate  helpless.  Nobody  in  the  way  but  Stephen 
Moore  and  — ah  ! there  was  that  young  Eussell.  What 
possessed  him  to  go  back  over  the  Grade  ? He  might  be 
troublesome. 

''You  had  better  sit  inside,”  said  Mr.  Howe,  as  he 
ascended  to  the  driver  s seat.  " I shall  have  to  sit  here, 
you  know.”  But  Philip,  who  wanted  to  be  near  his 
"pardner,”  cheerfully  replied  that  he  would  take  the 
upper  seat ; and  Hank  could  only  submit,  particularly 
when  his  appeal  to  Steve  Moore,  who  now  appeared, 
drawing  on  his  buckskin  gloves,  was  repelled  by  that 
last  authority  with  disdain. 

" Top-heavy !”  said  Steve,  " you  need  n’t  agitate  your- 
self about  that.  Hank;  there’s  three  sacks  of  horse- 
shoes in  the  bottom,  that  we  forgot  to  leave  last  night 
at  Andy’s.  Anyhow,  I presume  I know  how  to  drive,  — 
hey,  boys  ? 

Another  moment,  and  they  were  off  in  fine  style. 
The  Chinese  cooks,  and  the  miners  who  were  temporarily 
cooks  at  that  hour,  looked  out  at  the  doors  of  their 
cabins  to  see  the  coach  go  by ; and  the  afternoon  sun 
paused  with  his  chin  on  the  summit  of  the  pass  to  wait 
its  coming.  They  kept  him  in  view  for  a while,  ascend- 
ing faster  than  he  could  sink ; and  when  they  crossed 
the  breezy  summit,  and  entered  fairly  on  the  Grade,  his 
full  round  face  was  still  visible  in  the  west.  But  sud- 


198 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


denly  he  dropped  behind  the  far  blue  barrier  of  the 
Monte  Diablo  range,  and  they  saw  him  no  more. 

There  was  little  conversation  on  the  coach.  Howe 
was  moodily  silent,  and  Stephen  was  occupied  with  his 
driving;  for  driving  down  the  Grade  was  a different 
thing  from  driving  up.  Speedy  but  sure,  the  well- 
trained  horses  followed,  on  a swift  swinging  trot,  the 
windings  of  the  road.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  them 
turn  the  corners,  the  leaders  taking  a wide  sweep, 
and  hugging  the  rock  or  treading  the  dizzy  verge  of 
the  precipice,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  each  following 
pair  describing  its  smaller  circle ! The  depths  of  the 
canon  grew,  first  misty  blue,  then  dark,  in  the  twilight, 
and  the  shadows  rose  rapidly,  like  spirits  from  the  deeps, 
to  spread  their  garments  of  dusk  over  all  the  hills.  The 
moonlight  was  obscured  by  driving  clouds.  The  driver 
stopped  to  light  the  coach-lamps,  and  resumed  the  swift 
descent. 

Above  the  half-way  house  there  was  a short  level, 
over  which  Stephen  quietly  trotted  his  team,  and  which 
he  had  nearly  crossed  when  a man  appeared  on  the 
roadside,  holding  up  a letter.  ''Way-mail,”  said  the 
driver,  in  laconic  explanation,  and  stopped  the  coach. 
The  next  instant  several  forms  emerged  from  behind  the 
rocks,  and  a voice  cried,  " You  he  covered,  Steve  Moore ; 
don’t  you  stir,  or  you  ’ll  get  the  top  of  your  head  blowed 
off!” 

Stephen  put  his  hand  behind  him,  and  suddenly  draw- 
ing his  pistol  from  beneath  the  cushion,  pulled  the  trig- 
ger once,  twice,  thrice.  The  empty  chambers  replied 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


199 


with  impotent  and  spiteful  snaps.  Meanwhile  Howe 
was  blazing  away  with  great  rapidity,  and  emptied  all 
six  barrels  of  his  revolver  without  doing  any  harm. 
The  assailants  were  apparently  in  good-humor ; they 
shouted  in  reply  to  this  ineffectual  volley,  ‘'Ho  use. 
Cap ; why  don’t  you  carry  a shot-gun  ? Six-shooters 
ain’t  no  good  against  a road-agent.” 

Howe  began  quickly  to  load  again ; but  Stephen 
stopped  him.  “ They ’ve  got  us,”  said  he ; “ all  we 
can  do  is  to  give  in,  and  keep  our  wits  about  us,  to 
recognize  the  rascals.” 

“ There  are  the  passengers,”  said  Philip,  eagerly ; “ they 
are  armed.” 

Stephen  laughed  aloud.  “Young  man,  the  passen- 
gers don’t  waste  their  powder  nor  take  any  risks  for 
the  stage  company,  and  the  road-agents  won’t  trouble 
them!' 

But  he  was  mistaken  on  the  latter  point,  for  while 
one  of  the  robbers  stood  with  weapon  pointed  at  the 
group  on  the  outside  of  the  coach,  a second  opened  the 
coach  door.  “ Tumble  out ! One  at  a time  ! Hold  up 
your  hands,  in  there ! ” The  passengers  obeyed  with 
curses,  and,  from  the  ejaculations  which  followed,  it  was 
apparent  that  each  of  them  in  succession  was  obliged  to 
give  up  his  arms  and  money. 

Meanwhile  the  two  other  highwaymen  remained  close 
together,  by  the  side  of  the  road.  One  of  them  now 
approached,  calling  on  the  other  to  follow,  and  on 
Stephen  to  hand  over  the  treasure-box,  and  be  lively 
about  it.  Stephen  obeyed  with  apparent  alacrity.  The 


200 


BIIAVE  HEARTS. 


box  fell  upon  the  road  with  a heavy  thud,  and  the  rob- 
ber kicked  it,  in  complacent  satisfaction  over  its  weight. 
His  companion,  taking  advantage  of  this  opportunity, 
sprang  away,  and,  crossing  the  road  in  front  of  the 
horses,  disappeared  over  the  edge  at  a point  where 
the  descent,  though  perilous,  was  not  absolutely  im- 
possible. As  he  traversed  the  zone  illuminated  by 
the  head-lights  of  the  coach,  both  Stephen  and  Philip 
started  in  astonishment  to  recognize  in  this  only  un- 
masked member  of  the  marauding  party  the  features 
of  Andrew  Campbell.  Philip’s  half-uttered  exclama- 
tion was  checked  by  a significant  pressure  upon  his 
knee,  which,  in  his  elevated  position,  came  directly 
behind  the  driver’s  back.  Evidently  Stephen  did  not 
care  to  betray  his  discovery  to  Hank  Howe ; whether 
out  of  tenderness  to  Campbell  or  out  of  distrust  of 
Howe  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  latter  person 
showed  some  vexation  at  Campbell’s  escape.  There ’s 
one  of  the  villains  got  away  ! ” said  he. 

“Now  that’s  what  I call  a good  one!”  replied 
Stephen,  as  jolly  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  “ Here’s 
Hank  thinks  he  has  captured  the  crowd,  all  but  one. 
Don’t  let  the  rest  get  away,  now,  dont!'  Howe  bit  his 
lip  and  was  silent. 

The  affair  was  soon  over,  according  to  the  time-hon- 
ored programme  followed  on  such  occasions  in  the  usu- 
ally bloodless  robberies  of  the  West.  The  passengers 
were  all  re-seated,  and  the  road-agents,  picking  up  the 
treasure-box,  prepared  to  depart.  Their  last  word,  spo- 
ken by  the  tallest  of  the  party,  was,  “ You  ’re  bound  to 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


201 


set  thar  till  moon-down,  afore  you  go  to  go  any  furder, 
if  you  know  what 's  good  for  you.’’ 

They  had  no  sooner  disappeared,  taking  also  the  steep 
path  down  the  mountain-side,  than  Harrison  Howe, 
assuming  command  of  the  situation,  called  to  the  in- 
side passengers,  ''  Boys,  did  they  get  all  your  shoot- 
ing-irons ? ” 

No,  you  bet,”  was  the  chorused  reply ; ''  we  ’re 
heeled  yet ; got  a revolver  apiece.” 

'"Well,  who’ll  follow  the  trail  with  me?  We  can 
catch  ’em  yet ; they  ’ll  have  to  carry  that  box  or  stop  to 
break  it.” 

The  company  within  unanimously  declared,  with  dem- 
onstrations of  fierce  eagerness,  curiously  contradicting 
their  recent  pusillanimous  submission,  that  they  would 
all  go.  They  got  out  of  the  coach,  and  ran  to  the  edge 
of  the  road,  peering  over  the  dim  expanse  of  mountain- 
side after  the  party  which  had  just  vanished.  A whoop 
sounded  from  below.  It  was  really  a guiding  signal  to 
the  confederates  ; but  Harrison  Howe  still  kept  up  his 
character  of  avenging  pursuer,  and  chose,  therefore,  to 
consider  it  as  an  insulting  defiance. 

The  impudent  scoundrels  ! ” said  he,  as  he  heard  the 
whoop  (for  which  indeed  he  had  waited  until  that  mo- 
ment) ; ''  I ’ll  make  some  of  them  pay  for  that.” 

Had  n’t  you  better  make  haste,  Mr.  Barlow  ? ” said 
Stephen,  coolly,  gathering  his  reins  in  one  hand,  and 
dropping  the  other  carelessly  into  his  overcoat  pocket ; 

you  might  n’t  catch  those  fellows,  unless  you  know 
just  where  they  are  going.” 

9* 


202 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Howe  appeared  not  to  notice  the  name  by  which  the 
driver  had  called  him  ; but  secretly  he  accepted  it  as  an 
open  declaration  of  war.  There  was  to  be  no  more  as- 
sumed friendship  between  these  two  men,  and  both  of 
them  knew  it.  The  gambler  glanced  around,  but  the 
moment  was  not  propitious  for  violence.  His  men  were 
already  commencing  the  descent,  and  calling  on  him  to 
follow.  He  would  not  drop  the  mask  just  yet. 

''Ho  doubt  I shall  overtake  them,”  he  said,  carelessly. 
" I think  I know  one  of  the  scoundrels.” 

" So  do  replied  Moore ; " the  scoundrel  that  put  a 
new  cylinder  into  my  revolver,  and  has  got  my  cylinder 
this  minute  in  his.  Lay  down  your  pistol,  Mr.  James 
Barlow ; hold  up  your  hands,  Mr.  Barlow  ; Mr.  Bussell, 
have  the  politeness  to  go  through  Mr.  Barlow  while  I 
explain  the  operation  of  this  derringer.  You  see  it 
takes  one  hand  to  hold  the  team,  and  the  other  hand 
to  explain.  A derringer,  Mr.  Barlow,  is  calculated  for 
close  quarters.  You  point  it  at  a man's  head,  in  fact, 
you  put  it  close  to  his  ear,  and  if  he  stirs,  or  speaks  a 
word,  you  spoil  him.  Don't  forget  that  inside  breast- 
pocket, Mr.  Bussell,  that  carries  the  way-mail.  It 's  all 
for  your  good,  Mr.  Barlow ; you  see  it  would  n't  look 
well  for  the  company  to  be  robbed  and  the  company's 
messenger  omitted  in  the  distribution.  How  git,  you 
jackass-rabbit ! ” 

Even  in  this  moment  of  discomfiture,  the  gambler  did 
not  lose  his  impassive,  quiet  air.  He  submitted  to  the 
inevitable  like  the  fatalist  he  was  ; and,  while  Philip 
stripped  him  of  arms,  money,  and  papers,  busied  himself 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


203 


with  rapid  planning  of  the  immediate  future.  Of  course 
he  must  leave  the  neighborhood  at  once ; but  that 
troubled  him  little.  It  would  not  have  been  safe  to 
stay  long,  in  any  event,  after  the  robbery.  Too  many 
people  were  concerned.  He  would  join  his  party,  divide 
and  conceal  the  booty,  and  press  on  to  Campbell’s  Sta- 
tion. Something  could  be  made  out  of  the  old  man’s 
fears  yet.  He  would  frighten  Kate  into  compliance,  by 
threatening  her  father’s  life.  Eelieved  to  find  that  the 
stage-driver  did  not  offer  to  detain  him,  he  descended 
without  replying  either  to  Stephen’s  humor  or  to  his 
final  contempt,  and  vanished,  as  the  rest  had  done. 

“ Why  did  n’t  you  keep  him  ? ” asked  Philip,  whose 
quick  intelligence  had  gathered  most,  but  not  all,  of  the 
meaning  of  the  scene. 

Because  we  don’t  want  him,”  replied  the  driver,  in- 
stantly starting  the  team.  Can  you  ride  a horse  ? ” 

“ Yes ; why  do  you  ask  ? ” 

‘‘We  must  ride  ten  miles  while  they  walk  two.  Who 
gets  to  the  Home  Station  first  ? — that ’s  the  question.” 

“ Do  you  think  Miss  Campbell  is  in  any  danger  ? ” 

“ I think  it  is  my  business  to  go  and  see,”  replied 
Stephen,  shortly,  and  pulled  up  before  the  half-way 
cabin.  '‘’Lije  ! 0 ’Lije  !” 

’Lije  Pickering  came  to  the  door.  “ Strip  the  leaders 
as  quick  as  you  can,  and  give  us  a couple  of  blankets 
and  a saddle,  if  you ’ve  got  it.  There ’s  an  old  one  here 
in  my  boot.  You  hold  the  team,  Phil.  The  coach  is 
robbed,  old  man,  sure  enough ; never  mind  particulars. 
You  just  take  care  of  the  rest  of  the  stock  till  you  hear 
from  me.” 


204 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


With  a speed  born  of  much  practice,  the  two  frontiers- 
men unharnessed  and  saddled  the  foremost  horses,  — a 
pair  of  spirited  mustangs.  Philip  and  Stephen  paused  a 
moment  longer,  to  load  the  pistol  they  had  captured,  and 
the  one  whicli  had  proved  so  harmless  in  the  recent  fight. 
Then  they  mounted,  and  began  their  ride  against  time,  — 
a wild,  breakneck  ride,  a mad  gallop  down  the  Grade. 
It  is  not  difficult,  only  dangerous,  to  ride  fast  down  hill. 
There  is  no  recovery  for  a stumble ; but,  this  point 
aside,  the  pace  is  exhilarating  and  delightful.  The 
horses  caught  the  stern  excitement  of  their  riders,  and 
with  long,  sure  strides,  and  rapid  rhythm  of  hoof-beats, 
swept  down  each  incline,  slackening  slightly  as  they 
turned  the  corner,  and  resuming  immediately  their  head- 
long gait.  Philip  could  feel  his  steed  double  and  un- 
double like  a hand  beneath  the  saddle,  which  was 
scarcely  stirred  by  the  motion.  Flakes  of  foam  struck 
him  in  the  face ; he  could  hear  the  pattering  of  the 
gravel  thrown  out  behind.  He  might  be  killed  at  any 
moment ; a fall  over  the  precipice,  even  a fall  in  the 
road,  would  do  it;  but  he  had  never  enjoyed  any- 
thing so  much  in  his  life  as  tliis  risking  of  it.  Through 
his  reckless  physical  excitement  came  perpetually  the 
thought  of  Kate,  — brave,  lively,  lovely  Kate.  He  was 
not  in  love with  her  at  this  moment ; he  loved  her, 
which  is,  mademoiselle,  a different  thing.  For  his  su- 
preme desire  was  that  she  should  be  saved  from  the 
unknown  peril  that  threatened  her.  Let  Stephen  save 
her ; thank  God,  Stephen  was  able  to  do  it.  As  for  him- 
self, he  would  do  what  he  could. 


DOWN  THE  GRADE. 


205 


Neck  and  neck  they  rushed  onward  until  the  Station 
could  be  seen,  white  in  the  moonshine.  No  one  seemed 
to  be  stirring  near  it,  and  Stephen  broke  silence  with  an 
exclamation  of  relief.  They  were  in  time.  But  the 
moments  were  still  precious ; and  more  furiously  than 
ever,  if  that  were  possible,  they  drove  their  straining 
steeds  till  they  seemed  to  sail  or  fly,  rather  than  run. 
Past  the  stable,  where  the  hostler  stood  aghast ; past  the 
corral,  straight  up  to  the  porch  they  rode,  before  they 
reined  the  trembling  mustangs.  And  here  it  was,  when 
all  the  perils  of  the  fearful  descent  were  safely  past,  that 
Philip’s  horse  stumbled  and  fell  on  his  knees,  throwing 
the  rider  over  his  head,  with  terrible  momentum,  upon 
and  across  the  porch. 

When  Kate  Campbell  opened  the  door,  Philip  Eussell 
lay  senseless  at  her  feet. 


206 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

AUNT  MARGARET. 

In  the  west  bedroom  of  the  Bayport  villa,  Aunt  Mar- 
garet sat  alone.  The  table  at  her  side  was  covered  with 
books,  and  across  it  she  could  look  out  through  the  win- 
dow upon  a fair,  wide  landscape,  showing  in  the  foreground 
a part  of  Bayport,  and,  beyond  that,  the  undulating  sur- 
face of  the  country,  marked  with  roads  and  fences,  white 
houses,  with  an  occasional  red  house,  or  a mill,  or  a 
village  spire,  and  patches  of  woodland,  now  glowing 
with  the  brilliant  hues  of  autumn ; for  the  maples 
had  turned,  though  more  conservative  trees  still  clung  to 
their  summer  garments,  albeit  a little  the  worse  for  wear. 
She  might  have  had  another  room  with  an  ocean  view ; 
but  this  one  pleased  her  best.  A landscape  — even  if 
it  be  but  a picture  — wears  better  for  the  absence  of  the 
sensational  element.  It  is  not  then  forever  saying. 
Look  at  me,”  and  intruding  itself  upon  the  mind ; it 
enters  rather  like  a silent,  sympathetic  friend  into  every 
mood  of  the  soul,  bringing,  not  occupation  nor  distrac- 
tion, but  peace. 

But  at  this  moment  Aunt  Margaret  was  not  looking  at 
the  landscape,  nor  at  the  books  on  the  table,  nor  at  tlie 
book  on  her  knee.  She  was  reading  a manuscript  in  Alice’s 
handwriting ; a copy  of  verses,  which  she  had  found  on  the 


AUNT  MARGARET. 


207 


piano,  among  the  sheet-music.  For  the  old  lady  had  a wiiy 
of  going  to  the  parlor  when  nobody  was  about,  and  playing 
the  piano  in  a quaint,  old-fashioned  way,  as  if  it  were 
a harpsichord.  Eondos  and  minuets  and  bits  of  Mozart 
in  simple  arrangements  — nothing  so  elaborate  as  the 
Battle  of  Prague  — constituted  her  slender  stock,  which 
she  made  no  attempt  to  increase.  She  enjoyed  much  of 
the  modern  music  which  Alice  played;  but  her  own 
remnant  of  an  accomplishment  was  exercised  for  a dif- 
ferent purpose.  It  was  memory,  not  music,  that  she 
played.  However,  this  is  neither  here  nor  there;  the 
only  point  of  present  importance  is  the  fact  that  she 
had  found,  while  curiously  and  reverentially  turning 
over  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  the  pile  of  nocturnes, 
sonatas,  tarantellas,  and  (most  perplexing  of  all)  dudes 
on  the  piano,  this  poem,  in  Alice’s  hand ; and  she  was 
now  reading  it  for  the  second  time,  with  a look  of 
pain  ; for,  as  she  said  within  herself,  it  did  not  sound 
like  Alice.”  Of  this  the  reader  may  be  permitted  to 
judge.  Here  are  the  verses  : — 

MOCKED. 

I look  upon  the  fairest  scene  ; 

My  fancy  only  makes  it  fair  ; 

I know  not  if  it  really  bear 
Such  greenness,  — neither,  what  is  green. 

I hear  (at  least,  methinks  I hear) 

The  tones  of  some  melodious  strain,  — 

Obscure  conditions  of  the  brain. 

Excited,  haply,  through  the  ear  ! 


208 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Nor  surer  is  my  cautious  touch, 

The  truths  of  matter  to  reveal, 

Since  ever  T is  the  thing  I feel ; 

My  feeling,  or  what  seemeth  such. 

Alas  ! what  refuge  can  I find, 

What  lofty  outlook  into  space^ 

Eeflecting  other  than  my  face 

And  empty  echoes  of  my  mind  ? 

As  Aunt  Margaret  mused  over  this  somewhat  meta- 
physical production,  a knock  at  the  door,  and  a sweet 
voice  saying  May  I come  in  ? ” interrupted  her  medi- 
tations. A moment  later,  Alice  entered  the  room. 

'^How  bright  and  peaceful  it  always  looks  in  your 
room.  Aunt  Margaret ! I wonder  what  is  the  secret  of 
that  appearance  of  perfect  peace.  It  certainly  don’t 
inhabit  my  chamber.” 

You  have  what ’s  every  bit  as  good,  my  dear,  and 
better  for  young  folks,”  said  the  placid  old  lady  ; your 
room  is  a curiosity  shop,  and  gives  you  plenty  to  think 
of  Now  old  folks’s  rooms  are  like  their  minds  ; there 
is  n’t  much  furniture  or  clothing  around,  and  what  there 
is,  is  laid  away  orderly,  on  shelves,  or  hung  up  on  pegs. 
For  instance,  my  dear,  we  old  folks  don’t  worry  our- 
selves writing  poetry.” 

''  0,  but  you  read  it  ever  so  much.  Aunt  Margaret ! I 
found  you  out  long  ago  ; do  you  think  I don’t  know 
who  borrowed  my  Mrs.  Browning  ? But  you ’ve  got  one 
of  Philip’s  poems  in  your  hand  this  minute.  Philip 
writes  very  fine  poetry  when  he  chooses,  though  he’s 
such  a teaze  he  will  turn  everything  into  fun.  I found 


AUNT  MARGARET. 


209 


those  verses  pencilled  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  and, 
because  they  were  serious,  I copied  them.  What  do  you 
think  of  them  ? ” 

Aunt  Margaret  looked  relieved.  “So  Philip  wrote 
the  verses?”  said  she.  “Well,  my  dear,  the  rhymes 
are  in  the  wrong  places.” 

“ Kow,  Aunt  Margaret,  that  is  one  of  your  sly  jokes. 
You  know  ^ In  Memoriam  ’ is  written  that  way,  and  of 
course  it  is  proper  for  — ” 

“For  imitations  of  'In  Memoriam,'”  interposed  the 
old  lady,  with  quiet  malice.  “Well,  well;  that's  a 
matter  of  taste.  As  to  the  sentiment  of  the  verses,  it 
shows  very  clearly  that  Philip  ought  to  get  married. 
Nothing  cures  a young  man  of  looking  too  much  into 
his  own  face,  like  looking  into  somebody  else’s.” 

“I  don't  think  you  understand  Philip,”  said  Alice 
with  some  indignation. 

“ Perhaps  not ; but  I 've  seen  a good  many  young 
philosophers  cured  in  my  day,  particularly  the  kind, 
my  dear,  that  think  they  have  found  out  the  uncertainty 
of  knowledge  and  the  vanity  of  life.  It  is  n’t  good  for 
them  to  be  alone  with  their  thoughts ; the  sooner  they 
get  a sense  of  duty,  the  sooner  they  will  get  a sense  of 
truth.  Business  wakes  them  up,  but  it  may  make  them 
worldly  and  indifferent;  love,  my  dear,  is  the  best 
medicine  for  them.” 

Aunt  Margaret  breathed  a gentle  sigh  of  reminiscence, 
— was  it  of  regret  ? We  will  not  draw  the  veil  from 
her  youthful  vision  of  romance.  Certainly  she  must 
have  loved  and  must  have  been  beloved;  and  as  cer- 


N 


210 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


tainly  it  m^st  have  been  some  sorrowful  but  not  bitter 
fate  that  had  ended  her  early  dream ; for  in  her  old  age 
she  cherished  still  the  pure  ideals  of  a young  girl,  and 
spoke  of  love  and  marriage  as  they  should  be,  as  they 
are  in  happy  hearts  and  homes,  not  as  they  are  too 
often,  when  care  and  trouble,  made  sharp  with  selfish- 
ness, have  scratched  the  once  bright  mirror  of  the  soul. 
Yet  there  was  withal  a spice  of  worldly  wisdom,  born 
of  much  observation,  in  Aunt  Margaret’s  shrewd  re- 
mark that  Philip  ought  to  get  married. 

‘‘  I thought  at  first  that  you  were  the  sad  poet,”  she 
continued  ; and  that  perplexed  me.” 

‘‘  Did  you  think  I ought  to  be  married  ? ” said  Alice, 
blushing  in  spite  of  herself,  and  looking  for  a pin  on  the 
carpet,  — useless  pretence  ! there  were  never  any  pins  on 
Aunt  Margaret’s  carpet.  Her  toilet  was  not  the  fearful 
and  wonderful  structure  that  perpetually  loses  its  con- 
stituent bolts  and  fastenings. 

The  old  lady  smiled.  ''  I think  you  can  afford  to  wait 
till  you  are  asked.” 

Alice  blushed  more  than  ever,  gave  up  her  fruitless 
pin-hunting,  brought  a stool  to  Aunt  Margaret’s  side, 
and,  facing  her  at  last,  said,  I received  a letter  from 
Mr.  Morton,  and  — and  I must  answer  it.”  She  took  a 
paper  from  her  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Aunt  Margaret, 
who,  opening  it,  found  to  her  surprise  another  copy  of 
verses. 

''  Why,  does  he  make  poetry  too,  and  in  your  hand- 
writing too  ? ” 

0 dear  ! ” cried  Alice  in  confusion  ; ''  how  stupid  of 


AUNT  MARGARET. 


211 


me!  That’s  not  it;  that’s  only  some  scrihblings  of 
my  own.  Here,  auntie ; here ’s  the  letter.” 

But  auntie  had  already  “ dropped  into  ” the  poetry ; 
and  the  poor  girl’s  embarrassment  left  her  nothing  hut 
dismayed  submission.  Here  are  the  vhrses  : — 

MY  HERO. 

He  knows  me  not,  yet  him  I know  ; 

With  him  in  spirit  come  and  go, 

And  hide  content  to  have  it  so. 

Where  perils  press,  I see  him  stand 
With  fearless  face  and  skillful  hand. 

Supreme  to  act  and  to  command. 

Nor  change  nor  death  his  temper  move  ; 

His  steadfast  faith  shall  ever  prove 
Loyal  to  friendship  and  to  love. 

Through  whatsoever  rude  disguise. 

My  hero  still  I recognize 
By  the  calm  fervor  of  his  eyes. 

0 feeble  doubters ! stand  apart ; 

Ye  cannot  touch  with  reason’s  art 
This  deepest  truth  of  heart  and  heart  ! 

There  was  no  indication  in  these  lines  that  anybody 
in  particular  was  the  hero  referred  to,  unless  it  be  con- 
sidered significant  that  in  the  second  stanza  the  word 
perils  had  been  originally  written  pirates  ; but  that  was 
a mere  slip  of  the  pen.  The  simple  truth  is,  that  cer- 
tain stories  about  a certain  person  had  captivated  the 
imagination  of  a certain  young  woman,  who  had  there- 


212 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


upon  made  an  imaginary  hero  of  him,  in  a gush  of 
poetry  that  resembled  Mrs.  Browning’s  as  much  as  her 
brother’s  resembled  Tennyson’s ; that  is  to  say,  not  at 
all,  except  in  the  number  of  feet  and  the  distribution  of 
the  toes,  — I mean  the  rhymes. 

Aunt  Margaret  made  no  remark  upon  the  poem,  but 
proceeded  to  read  Mr.  Morton’s  letter.  It  contained  a 
proposal  of  marriage,  and  it  was  all  that  such  a letter 
could  fairly  be  expected  to  be,  — tenderly  respectful, 
earnest,  sincere,  manly,  grammatical,  and  free  from  blots. 
Perhaps  the  allusion  which  it  contained  to  the  satisfac- 
tion which  Philip  would  feel  at  a union  between  his 
friend  and  his  sister  was  slightly  injudicious.  It  seemed 
at  least  to  indicate  that  Philip  had  been  meddling  a 
little  on  both  sides;  Alice  remembered  that  he  had 
shown  an  inclination  to  labor  with  her  in  Alfred  Mor- 
ton’s favor;  but  that  was  trifling  compared  with  the 
blunder  of  inciting  Mr.  Morton  to  a courtship.  After 
all,  however,  two  things  were  decisive  of  a third  in  her 
mind,  and  the  third  was  quite  decisive  of  Mr.  Morton’s 
fate.  The  first  was,  that  he  had  wooed  by  letter  at  all. 
The  second  was,  that  he  had  shown  of  late  an  evident 
liability  to  be  bewitched  with  the  beauty,  grace,  and 
accomplishments  of  Isabella  Vane.  It  looked  as  though 
he  had  once  made  up  his  mind,  not  unwillingly,  that 
Alice  Eussell  was  the  true  wife  for  him ; and  now,  find- 
ing himself  in  danger  of  wavering,  had  taken  the  irrevo- 
cable step,  to  satisfy  his  conscience  and  his  judgment. 
The  third  point  was,  that  Alice,  finding  herself  able  to 
review  so  coolly  the  other  two,  very  sensibly  concluded 


A UNT  MARGARET  AND  ALICE, 


Au7tt  Margai'et  made  no  remark  upon  the  poem^  but  proceeded  to 
read  Mr.  Morton  s letter. 


AUNT  MAKGAKET. 


213 


that  she  did  not  love  Mr.  Morton,  and  had  written  a 
kind,  sincere  letter,  refusing  his  offer  in  so  delicate  and 
skillful  a way  as  to  turn  him,  without  detriment  to 
his  self-respect,  back  again  from  a lukewarm  lover  into 
an  earnest  friend.  In  truth,  they  were  too  much  alike 
to  match.  What  each  needed  was  a complement,  not  a 
double. 

So  it  was  with  her  mind  made  up,  and  her  answer 
ready  for  the  post-office,  that  Alice  had  gone  to  consult 
Aunt  Margaret.  It  would  give  her  an  opportunity,  per- 
haps, to  repeat  aloud  the  arguments  that  had  seemed  so 
conclusive  in  soliloquy.  But  the  wise  old  lady,  having 
finished  Mr.  Morton’s  epistle,  merely  held  out  her  hand, 
saying,  Now  let  me  see  your  reply,  my  dear.” 

And  when  she  had  finished  reading  that,  she  remarked 
only,  ''That  will  do  very  well,  very  well  indeed;  or, 
you  might  send  him  the  poetry.  He  would  n’t  see  his 
face  in  that,  — would  he  ? ” 

This  allusion  to  her  unlucky  rhymes  drove  Alice  out 
of  the  room  in  a garb,  to  express  it  in  feminine  nomen- 
clature, consisting  of  confusion  very  deep,  with  a 
pique  over-skirt  of  laughter.  (I  trust  the  figure  is  in- 
telligible, and  the  phraseology  correct.)  But  the  literal 
result  was  that  Mr.  Morton  "got  the  mitten,”  at  his 
sanctum  in  New  York,  by  the  next  mail. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Francis  Vane  had  been  following  up, 
with  some  success,  the  clew  afforded  by  the  fifty-dollar 
note,  No.  13,247,  to  the  history  of  the  old,  half-forgotten, 
Andrew  Campbell  affair.  This  was  one  of  the  missing 
notes,  and,  though  years  had  elapsed,  it  was  still  so  crisp 


214 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


and  new  as  to  show  that  it  had  not  been  much  in  circula- 
tion. This,  and  the  large  denomination  of  the  bill,  gave 
some  faint  ground  for  hope  that  its  travels  might  be 
traced.  It  was  not  exactly  detective’s  work ; merely  a let- 
ter to  the  bank  in  St.  Louis  from  which  the  note  had  come. 
The  reply  was  positive,  that  the  note  had  lain  in  the 
safe  a good  while,  with  several  others  of  the  same  de- 
nomination, there  having  been  but  a slight  call  for  fifties 
at  the  paying  teller’s  desk.  The  whole  package  had 
originally  been  deposited  in  exchange  for  small  bills ; 
the  receiving  teller  had  taken  the  precaution  to  jot  down 
in  pencil  on  the  envelope  surrounding  the  bill  the  name 
of  the  depositor;  and  this  name  was  James  Barlow,  — a 
circumstance  not  clear  in  its  significance  to  Frank  Vane. 
It  might  mean  that  Campbell  himself  had  assumed  a 
false  name,  or  that  James  Barlow,  being  another  person, 
and  not  a mere  alias  of  Campbell,  had  received  the 
money  from  him  ; or,  for  that  matter,  why  from  him  ? 
The  appearance  in  the  case  of  this  Mr.  Barlow  did  not 
touch  the  question  of  the  cashier’s  guilt  or  innocence. 
It  only  added  another  question,  — who  the  dickens  is 
Barlow  ? The  fact  that  he  had  deposited  all,  or  nearly 
all,  the  stolen  notes  in  one  package  at  one  time,  was 
strong  presumptive  evidence  that  he  had  some  near  con- 
nection with  the  crime,  either  as  robber  or  as  receiver. 
After  pondering  these  points  for  a week,  Mr.  Francis 
Vane,  without  explaining  his  plans  to  anybody,  took  the 
cars  for  St.  Louis. 

Foolish  boy  ! he  too  must  needs  write  Alice  Eussell  a 
letter.  What  possessed  these  silly  suitors,  not  to  see 


AUNT  MAKGAEET. 


215 


that  the  girl  should  be  taken,  if  at  all,  by  storm,  and  not 
by  such  formal  approaches  ? I think  the  trouble  was, 
though  both  Morton  and  Vane  would  have  been  indig- 
nant at  such  an  imputation,  that  they  were  not  suffi- 
ciently in  earnest.  They  advanced  like  judicious  generals, 
looking  out  to  keep  open  their  lines  of  safe  and  dignified 
retreat.  By  this  strategy  they  diminished  the  possible 
disasters  of  defeat,  and  also  the  chances  of  victory. 
The  citadel  of  the  maiden’s  heart  might  have  surren- 
dered to  a furious  assault  from  either  of  them ; one  of 
the  wild  charges  which  stake  all  on  the  issue,  and  which 
are  made,  in  love  as  in  war,  by  those  men  only  who 
‘‘  would  as  lief  not  be  ” as  be  defeated. 

So  Vane  was  answered,  as  Morton  had  been.  Alice 
wrote  this  time  with  greater  ease.  She  was  getting  ac- 
customed to  the  style  of  composition  required;  and  it 
was  even  a source  of  considerable  intellectual  pleasure 
to  her  to  fit  her  reply  to  what  she  imagined  to  be  Mr. 
Vane’s  character,  so  as  to  ''  do  him  good,”  without  giving 
him  pain. 

It  would  not  be  fair  to  say  that  either  of  the  young 
men  was  delighted  with  the  result  of  his  suit.  But 
there  was  consolation  for  both.  Morton  professed  to 
himself  that  his  true  love,  founded  on  esteem,  had  been 
thwarted  by  fate ; the  thought  of  meeting  Alice  as  before, 
in  the  presence  of  Isabella^  was  slightly  embarrassing ; 
but  he  had  entire  confidence  in  Miss  Bussell’s  discretion 
and  generosity.  She  was  not  one  to  wear  the  scalps  of 
victims  at  her  belt,  or  shout  catalogues  of  their  names 
during  the  war-dance  of  society.  After  a little,  matters 


216 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


would  be  as  before ; indeed,  he  should  enjoy  her  presence 
and  intellectual  companionship  more  than  ever,  since 
there  would  be  no  disturbing  undertone  in  his  thought 
of  her. 

As  for  Frank,  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  had  got 
much  interested  in  the  Campbell  affair,  and  the  vision 
of  the  cashier’s  daughter  had  somewhat  haunted  him  of 
late.  He  had  performed  a sort  of  mental  experiment, 
to  test  the  relative  brightness  of  the  two  images,  — Alice 
and  Kate,  — putting  them,  as  it  were,  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  semi-transparent  screen  of  his  affections,  and 
observing  which  side  was  the  more  strongly  illuminated. 
The  result  was,  on  the  whole,  in  Alice’s  favor ; because 
love,  in  this  stage,  is,  as  Holmes  says,  a matter  of  pro- 
pinquity. Its  power  is  apt  to  be  inversely  as  the  square 
of  the  distance.  And,  most  important  of  all,  the  elec- 
tric light  had  not  yet  been  focussed  upon  Master  Frank’s 
soul,  which  should  turn  all  other  lights  to  shadows  in 
comparison.  So  he  reached  for  the  nearest  luminary, 
and,  finding  it  was  not  to  be  won,  took  for  his  guide  the 
remoter  one,  that  shone  from  unknown  distance  like  a 
star.  Whether  it  would  turn  out,  on  nearer  approach, 
to  be  a light  in  the  window  for  him,  or  remain  forever  a 
star,  troubled  him  little.  It  was  a good  thing  to  steer 
by ; and  that  sufficed  for  the  present. 


A night’s  work. 


217 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

A night’s  AVORK. 

When  Philip  Eussell  recovered  consciousness,  he  was 
lying  upon  a cot  at  one  side  of  the  sitting-room  of  the 
Home  Station.  Stephen  was  skillfully  cutting  away  his 
boots  from  his  feet,  and  the  slashed  remains  of  a coat 
on  the  floor  showed  that  this  garment  had  been  remoA^ed 
in  a similar  manner.  Kate  was  bending  over  him 
with  a gaze  of  anxious  tenderness,  which  she  suddenly 
turned  aside  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  — so  suddenly 
that  he  wondered  afterwards  whether  he  had  seen  or 
dreamed  it. 

The  stage-driver’s  bearing  had  that  high-strung  air 
which  was  natural  to  him  in  moments  of  emergency. 
A sailor  would  have  said  he  had  called  all  hands  on 
deck.  Every  faculty  of  his  mind  was  alert  to  meet  the 
crowding  duties  of  the  hour,  so  sadly  disturbed  and 
complicated  by  this  new  catastrophe.  If  it  had  been 
his  plan  to  warn  Kate  of  coming  danger,  and  to  get  her 
away  from  the  Station,  that  notion  had  been  of  neces- 
sity given  up ; the  present  imperative  business  of  both 
of  them  Avas  to  look  after  the  sufferer.  As  Philip  re- 
vived, Stephen  said  cheerily,  — ''I  told  you  so,  Kate ; 
he’s  come  to.  Now  let’s  see  what’s  the  damage. 
Lucky  I know  something  about  breaks  and  bruises.” 
10 


218 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


With  that  he  commenced  a rapid  and  not  unskillful  ex- 
amination of  the  patient. 

'Teel  faint,  hey?  That’s  natural.  Hm  — this  cut 
on  your  head’s  no  ’count.  Wash  it,  Kate;  vinegar 
and  brown  paper’s  too  expensive.  Can’t  move  this 
arm.  Ko  wonder;  it’s  out  at  the  shoulder.  Nothing 
broke  there,  though.  Eibs  all  right ; now  that ’s  queer. 
When  I break  anything,  it ’s  a rib.  So  many  of  ’em, 
you  know;  the  chances  are  always  in  favor  of  a rib. 
Thighs,  knee-pans  ? Thank  the  Lord,  they  ’re  not  pul- 
verized. I ’m  up  to  most  tricks  in  the  surgery  line ; 
quite  a bone-sharp,  in  fact ; but  thighs  and  knee-pans 
git  me,  that ’s  so.  Bad  shape,  and  nothing  to  splice  ’em 
to.  Hello,  what ’s  this  ? 0 yes,  I see ; well,  you  ’ll  have 
to  lie  still  awhile,  partner,  that ’s  all,  and  Kate  and  I 
will  pull  you  through.” 

The  last  discovery,  of  which  he  affected  to  make  so 
little,  was  really  the  most  serious,  — a fracture  of  both 
bones  of  the  leg,  just  above  the  ankle ; caused,  proba- 
bly, by  the  catching  of  the  foot  in  the  stirrup.  If  it  had 
not  been  a big  Spanish  stirrup,  the  chances  are  that  the 
foot  would  not  have  got  clear  at  all,  and  Philip,  dragged 
or  trampled  by  the  mustang,  would  have  furnished  noth- 
ing more  to  this  story,  save  a funeral. 

Stephen’s  decision  was  instantly  made.  The  leg  must 
be  wrapped  in  wet  cloths  to  reduce  the  swelling  and 
inflammation ; to-morrow,  perhaps,  it  could  be  set.  The 
shoulder  he  would  immediately  attend  to. 

" Now  we  must  make  him  sit  up  a minute,”  said  he. 
" If  we  had  a doctor  here,  how  he  would  jerk  and  jam, 
and  make  you  holler  ! But  I won’t  hurt  you  a bit.” 


A NIGHT  S WOKK. 


219 


He  tore  up  the  shirt-sleeve,  leaving  arm  and  shoulder 
bare.  Then  he  raised  the  elbow  till  it  was  level  with 
the  shoulder,  and  moved  it  back  horizontally.  A few 
seconds  of  gentle  rotary  motion,  — a sort  of  feeling  for 
the  proper  position,  — and  the  arm  slipped,  without 
snapping,  back  into  place.  It 's  a good  deal  like  a 
bayonet- joint,”  said  Stephen,  complacently;  "'get  the 
right  hitch  on  her,  and  in  she  goes  ; but  if  you  don’t, 
you  may  hammer  and  screw  away  forever,  and  you  can’t 
fetch  her.  Any  hostler  knows  that,  that  ever  put  the 
bottom  on  a stable-lantern ; hey,  boys  ? But  these 
doctors  have  n’t  found  it  out.  Doctors  are  all  right 
when  you  don’t  know  what  ails  you ; when  you  do,  you 
don’t  want  ’em.” 

They  laid  Philip  down  again,  and  wrapped  his  broken 
leg  in  wet  cloths.  " I shall  want  some  plaster-o’-paris 
to-morrow,”  said  Stephen.  There  was  none  in  the  house. 

" Then  we  ’ll  make  some ; you  ’ll  subscribe  this  con- 
cern, hey,  Kate  ? ” He  took  from  the  mantel  a small 
vase  of  alabaster.  Of  course  Kate  would  sacrifice  it; 
she  had  already  left  it  behind  in  packing  for  the  myste- 
rious departure  commanded  by  her  father ; and  the  pang 
of  doing  so  was  now  removed  by  the  prospect  of  its  use. 
For  it  was  a souvenir  of  Bayport;  and  what  worthier 
fate  for  it  than  to  be  consumed  in  serving  him  who  lay 
before  her,  a symbol  of  the  bright  and  broken  happiness 
of  her  Bayport  life  ? 

"Well,”  said  Stephen,  "you  pound  it  up  to-night, 
before  you  go  to  bed,  and  put  it  in  the  bake-pan,  with 
plenty  of  hot  coals  all  round  it  and  over  it.  I guess 


220 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


some  of  it  will  be  plaster-o’-^aris  by  the  time  we 
want  it.” 

At  this  moment  Andrew  Campbell  came  hastily  into 
the  room,  pale  and  panting.  When  he  saw  the  faces  of 
Philip  and  Stephen,  he  started  as  if  he  had  met  a ghost, 
— though  that  is  a poor  comparison,  for  ghosts  had  no 
special  terrors  for  him.  It  was  living  men,  and  his  own 
vague  phantasm  of  a hostile,  remorseless  fate,  that  he 
feared.  He  would  have  fled,  perhaps,  but  not  without 
his  daughter.  Trembling  with  fatigue,  excitement,  and 
panic,  he  sank  into  a chair. 

''  Hello,  Andy,”  cried  Stephen.  ‘‘  Good  thing  you  Ve 
come.  Here ’s  a pretty  mess ; stage  robbed  up  on  the 
Grade ; all  the  passengers  out  hunting  the  road-agents ; 
mighty  brash  about  it,  after  the  thing  was  over ; but  we 
all  let  those  fellows  go  through  us  at  the  time,  and  never 
gave  them  any  lip-currency  along  with  the  gold.  And 
here’s  my  partner  and  me  rode  the  leaders  like  mad 
down  the  Grade,  for  fear  the  boys  were  going  to  play 
off  something  or  other  on  Kate  — and  you;  and  Mr. 
Eussell  was  in  such  a hurry,  he  got  off  his  mustang 
the  wrong  way,  and  knocked  at  the  door  with  his  head 
and  his  shoulder-blade  and  his  shins,  all  in  a heap. 
We  ’ll  have  to  cement  him  up,  and  tie  him  together  with 
a string,  and  set  him  on  a shelf  to  dry.” 

Campbell  scarcely  followed  the  words,  but  the  friendly 
and  cheerful  tone  of  the  speaker  reassured  him.  Philip 
beckoned  the  driver  to  his  side,  and  whispered,  “ Look 
out  for  him;  I saw  his  face  on  the  hill.”  To  which 
Stephen  replied  in  a suppressed,  peremptory  tone,  Let 


A night’s  work. 


221 


' me  drive,  will  you  ? I ’ve  got  to  look  out  for  you  — and 
Kate.” 

You  and  Kate,  — that  had  a pleasant  sound;  and 
Philip,  finding  time  rather  heavy  on  his  hands  (to  say 
nothing  of  the  weight  of  the  damp  cloths  on  his  leg), 
amused  himself  during  the  next  half-hour  by  humming 
a variety  of  tunes,  to  all  of  which  the  words  you  and 
Kate,  repeated  with  sufficient  frequency,  were  found  to 
fit  exactly. 

Meanwhile,  the  coach  came  in  as  usual  from  the  west. 
Bronco  Bill  driving,  and  one  Chinaman  as  passenger. 
Stephen  held  a hurried  conversation  on  the  porch  with 
his  professional  brother,  the  result  of  which  was  that 
Bill  bolted  his  supper  with  even  less  loquacity  than 
usual,  and  immediately  afterwards  drove  on  with  his  own 
coach  and  a fresh  team  towards  Goldopolis.  The  light 
load  permitted  an  unusual  up-hill  speed,  and  the  unfor- 
tunate Chinaman  rattled  about  in  the  unballasted  vehi- 
cle, — a single  pea  in  a pod  contrived  by  nature  for  nine. 
Bill  had  no  fears  of  road-agents  on  this  trip.  The  road 
is  never  so  safe  as  just  after  a heavy  robbery ; and  be- 
sides, who  would  be  such  a fool  as  to  stop  the  up  coach  ? 
So  he  drove  briskly  on  in  the  moonlight,  with  a message 
in  his  head  for  Mr.  Johnson. 

The  rest  also  took  their  supper,  and  were  scarcely 
done  with  it  when  Harrison  Howe  and  the  three  passen- 
gers came  in.  Stephen  saw  them  approaching  the  house, 
and  quickly  took  a revolver  from  Philip’s  coat,  which  he 
thrust  under  Philip’s  pillow.  Then  he  offered  his  der- 
ringer, with  a significant  look,  to  Kate.  I have  n’t  had 


222 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


any  chance  to  explain  matters  to  you/’  said  he,  '‘and  I * 
could  n’t  explain  if  I had  time ; for  I can’t  make  the 
thing  out.  But  there ’s  deviltry  afoot,  Kate,  and  you 
ought  to  be  armed.” 

" Since  how  long  ? ” replied  Kate,  with  a gleam  of  the 
laughing  spirit  which  had  seemed  to  have  died  out  of 
her  during  the  last  twenty-four  hours;  and  with  the 
word  she  showed  the  handle  of  her  own  revolver.  " I 
don’t  care  to  shoot!'  she  added,  " except  at  hill-grouse,  or 
two-bit  pieces ; but  a pistol  is  a handy  thing  to  show!' 

The  confederates  entered  the  room  in  a fierce,  sullen 
way,  suitable,  perhaps,  to  people  who  had  been  robbed, 
and  had  failed  to  catch  the  robbers.  It  was  Stephen’s 
cue  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  them  as  far  as  possible ; 
and  he  speedily  suspected  a most  important  fact,  namely, 
that,  for  some  reason.  Hank  Howe  was  out  of  favor  with 
the  rest. 

"Well,  Hank,”  said  he,  ignoring,  as  he  felt  sure  the 
gambler  would  find  it  politic  to  do,  the  slightly  irritating 
manner  in  which  they  had  parted,  " what  luck  ? Did 
you  catch  ’em  ? ” 

"Ko,”  replied  Howe,  curtly,  with  keen  observation  of 
the  effect  of  his  reply  upon  Stephen ; " but  the  company 
don’t  lose  much.  We  found  the  treasure-box  broken 
open,  and  full  of  horse-shoe  nails.” 

Moore’s  astonishment  at  this  statement  was  evidently 
genuine,  and  as  evidently  followed  by  complete  incre- 
dulity. The  gambler,  uneasily  conscious  that  unseen 
hands  were  weaving  a web  of  trouble  about  him,  was 
satisfied  that  Stephen’s  were  not  among  them.  His  little 


A night’s  work. 


223 


feud  with  the  stage-driver  could  wait.  For  the  present, 
his  position  lacked  a clear  line  of  retreat.  Somebody  — 
doubtless  the  agent  at  Goldopolis  — had  played  him 
false,  and  probably  the  officers  of  the  law  were  at  this 
moment  on  his  track.  Then  his  six  confederates  were 
enraged  at  their  disappointment,  and  in  fierce  despair 
because  the  robbery  would  force  them  to  leave  the  re- 
gion at  once,  without  giving  them,  as  they  had  expected, 
the  means  of  going  and  a reward  for  their  trouble.  They 
were  ready  to  visit  it  all  upon  him ; his  waning  author- 
ity had  only  sufficed  to  bring  them  to  the  Station,  in 
vague  hopes  of  plunder  there,  and  of  revenge  on  Andy 
Campbell,  who,  he  had  hinted  to  them,  was  probably  the 
informer  and  marplot. 

Three  other  men  entered,  as  if  independently,  at  inter- 
vals of  a few  minutes.  One  was  our  acquaintance  of 
the  slouched  hat ; another  was  our  tall  friend  from  North 
Carolina;  the  third  served  merely  to  make  three,  and 
his  individuality  is  of  no  more  importance  to  my  story 
than  that  of  the  ''  citizens  and  strangers  ” who  bring  up 
the  rear  of  a Fourth-of-July  procession.  The  intelligent 
reader  will  perceive  that  these  are  our  robbers,  who  have 
laid  aside  their  masks,  and  reappear  in  the  character  of 
honest  miners. 

The  new-comers  listen  with  affected  attention  to  the 
story  of  the  robbery,  and  join  the  rest  in  cursing  the 
Company,  which  lets  its  passengers  be  cleaned  out,  and 
yet  carries  only  nails  in  its  treasure-chest.  Stephen  puts 
in  a sly  remark,  which  has  its  due  effect,  — a declaration 
that  the  galoot  who  rigged  up  such  an  arrangement,  and 


224 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


did  not  take  pains  to  find  out  whether  there  was  treasure 
on  the  coach,  was  a shiftless  fool,  or  else,  more  likely, 
had  gone  back  on  his  partners.,  A mighty  pretty  game 
it  would  be,  between  him  and  the  agent,  say,  to  pull  the 
treasure-box  beforehand,  and  then  fill  her  up  with  nails, 
and  let  her  be  lost  on  the  road.  The  prettiest  gold- 
extraction  process  ever  got  up  yet. 

The  six  roughs  ” looked  suspiciously  at  one  another 
and  at  Hank  Howe.  They  were  evidently  on  the  point 
of  throwing  off  all  disguises,  and  taking  vengeance  at 
any  risk.  But  his  quick  wit  saved  him.  Apparently 
unmoved  and  unconcerned,  he  said  in  a clear,  cutting 
tone,  “ It  will  go  hard  with  anybody  that  was  concerned  in 
this  affair,  if  he  is  found  out.  Wells  Fargo  never  lets 
up  on  a man  that  has  touched  the  treasure-box,  no  mat- 
ter what  was  in  it.’'  This  remark  brought  to  the  gang  a 
sense  of  peril  that  cooled  them  like  a shower-bath.  Mr. 
Howe  proceeded  : And  before  Wells  Fargo  could  get 

hold  of  him,  a vigilance  committee  would  do  the  busi- 
ness. This  sort  of  thing  has  got  to  be  stopped.” 

(Cries  of  ‘‘  That 's  so ! ” and  expletives  by  the  com- 
pany.) 

Andrew  Campbell,  who  had  been  absent,  mechanically 
attending  to  some  household  duty,  now  entered  the  room, 
candle  in  hand,  and  stood  amazed  to  see  so  many  assem- 
bled faces,  and  among  them  that  of  Howe,  of  whose 
connection  with  the  robbery  he  was  still  ignorant,  though 
he  had  heard  enough  from  the  highwaymen  to  make 
him  suspicious,  in  his  feeble  way. 

One  of  the  passengers,  at  a glance  from  Howe,  ex- 


A night’s  woek. 


225 


claimed  suddenly,  with  an  oath, '' Thar’s  the  man ; that ’s 
one  of  ’em,  — the  one  without  a mask  ! ” 

White,  speechless,  tottering,  Andrew  Campbell  re- 
ceived the  sentence  of  doom.  The  candle  dropped  from 
his  nerveless  grasp.  Kate  flew  to  his  side. 

^'0  gentlemen,”  she  cried,  ''you  are  mistaken,  you 
are  cruel ! My  father  is  too  ill  to  bear  such  accusations. 
They  are  not  true ! Speak  to  them,  father ; you  were 
not  there  ? ” 

Campbell’s  colorless  lips  whispered,  "I  was  there, 
Kate.  God  help  me,  I was  there  ! ” 

" He  does  not  know  what  he  is  saying.  Believe  me, 
gentlemen,  he  has  fits  like  this ; they  make  him  quite 
delirious.  You  could  not  have  seen  him,  sir.” 

The  passenger,  who,  it  must  be  remembered,  really 
did  believe  Campbell  to  have  been  not  only  an  accom- 
plice but  a traitor,  reiterated  his  declaration,  adding  that 
it  was  mighty  rough  on  the  gal,  but  it  was  true ; and 
the  two  other  passengers  joined  in.  Kate  appealed  to 
Philip ; but  his  silent,  helpless  look  in  reply  was  suffi- 
cient answer.  She  turned  to  Stephen;  but  Stephen, 
watchful  and  stern,  said  only,  " Don’t  ask  me.”  At  last, 
overcoming  her  deep  repugnance,  she  addressed  Harrison 
Howe,  who  had  not  given  his  verdict. 

" Mr.  Howe,  this  is  some  dreadful  error.  They  have 
taken  some  one  else  for  my  father.  But  you  will  cor- 
rect them ; you  were  in  the  best  place  to  see.  You  know 
his  face;  you  know  he  is  no  robber.  You  will  save 
him!” 

A moment’s  silence  followed.  The  impassioned  girl, 
10^ 


o 


226 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


as  her  own  words  died  away,  realized  that  the  marble 
face  towards  which  she  gazed  was  lit  with  sinister  tri- 
umph. The  eyes  said  more  plainly  than  tongues,  If 
I save  him,  you  know  the  price ! ” Her  whole  soul 
rose  up  in  rebellion,  and  sank  again  in  nethermost 
despair. 

Stephen  made  a step  forward,  but  controlled  himself 
in  time.  It  was  useless,  at  this  point,  to  interfere.  He 
was  not  master  of  the  situation. 

Even  Philip  half  lifted  himself  on  his  cot,  feeling  that 
some  new  and  precious  stake  had  been  added  to  the 
game.  Alas,  how  helpless  he  was  ! 

In  truth,  much  depended  upon  Kate  Campbeirs  reply, 
by  word  or  look,  to  Howe's  insolent  and  relentless  con- 
dition. If  she  should  yield,  he  would  doubtless  be  able 
in  some  way  to  save  her  father.  The  rest  were  mainly 
anxious  for  plunder,  to  make  good  their  disappointment 
and  to  assist  in  their  escape.  He  could  divert  them 
from  the  idea  of  violence,  at  least.  If  she  should  refuse, 
Mr.  Howe’s  last  card  was  not  by  any  means  played ; it 
would  become  his  interest  to  have  her  father  torn  from 
her,  kept  from  her,  banished  or  imprisoned ; he  did  not 
seriously  mean  anything  worse ; and,  if  worse  should 
happen,  it  would  be  against  his  protest. 

Kate  saw  the  alternative  vividly,  if  not  accurately. 
She  must  sacrifice  herself,  and  for  a meagre  and  uncer- 
tain hope,  — perhaps  altogether  in  vain.  Her  promise 
to  marry  Harrison  Howe,  that  dreadful,  fateful  man 
would  certainly  find  means  to  enforce ; his  promise  to 
save  her  father,  if  he  should  give  it,  would  be  kept  only 


A night’s  work. 


227 


until  it  suited  him  to  use  again  the  weapon  of  her  fear. 
The  argument  went  on  visibly,  as  it  were,  in  her  face ; 
the  whiteness  of  desperation  swiftly  alternating  with  the 
flush  of  shame  and  wrath.  It  was  a drawn  battle,  un- 
less it  may  be  said  that  the  white  flag  at  last  occupied 
the  fleld  undisturbed ; for  while  the  motley  company, 
struck  silent  with  awe  and  intense  interest,  waited  for 
her  words,  she  fainted,  and  was  caught  in  her  father’s 
arms. 

This  incident  added  nothing,  apparently,  to  Andrew 
Campbell’s  woe.  He  looked  at  her  pale  face  as  if  he 
were  dead,  and  she  also,  and  life  concerned  them  not. 
His  wits  were  leaving  him.  He  did  not  even  show  fresh 
fright  when  Harrison  Howe  remarked  at  last,  "'I  am 
glad  the  young  lady  is  insensible ; for  I am  obliged  to 
confess  that  I distinctly  recognized  her  father  among  the 
robbers  of  the  coach.  Probably  it  will  be  best  to  arrest 
him  and  hold  him  until  we  can  hear  from  the  sheriff. 
Meanwhile,”  added  Mr.  Howe,  with  delicate  tact,  the 
house  can  be  searched  for  the  money  stolen  from  the 
passengers.” 

The  confederates  breathed  more  freely.  They  had  got 
the  girl  off  their  consciences ; that  is,  she  had  shut  her 
eyes,  and  could  not  make  them  uncomfortable  by  staring 
around  at  them.  Moreover,  the  simple  plan  of  an  arrest 
and  a search  secured  their  approbation. 

But  at  this  point  Stephen  Moore  took  command. 

"'Ho  sending  for  the  sheriff  while  I’m  around,”  said 
he,  striding  forward.  "This  is  my  affair;  the  man 
stopped  my  coach.  People  don’t  stop  my  coach  and  get 


228 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


off  easy,  — hey,  Hank?  We  can  get  along  without  a 
sheriff,  hoys ; I guess  we  know  how  to  run  a trial.  Some 
of  you  escort  the  man  outdoors,  and  we  ’ll  organize.” 

So  speaking,  with  a sort  of  cool  impetuosity,  he  lifted 
the  unconscious  Kate,  and  carried  her  swdftly  away  to 
her  room.  In  an  instant  he  reappeared,  before  any  of 
the  perplexed  spectators  had  thought  what  to  say  or  do. 

She  11  come  to,”  he  remarked ; now  for  business.” 
Andrew  Campbell  made  no  resistance,  but,  like  a som- 
nambulist, walked  out  of  the  house,  surrounded  by  a 
portion  of  his  judges.  The  rest  ran  hastily  to  the  bar- 
room and  the  express-office,  where  they  rummaged  in 
vain.  The  liquors  had  been  buried  in  the  corral;  the 
safe  they  could  not  open ; and  the  private  moneys  of  the 
station-keeper  were  in  Kate’s  room,  packed  for  the  pro- 
jected journey.  One  of  the  gang  started  to  go  in  that 
direction ; but  Philip,  who  had  been  a watchful  though, 
so  far,  powerless  spectator,  took  the  pistol  from  under 
his  pillow,  and,  with  a violent  effort,  sat  up  on  his  cot. 

The  other  door ! ” said  he,  imperatively.  The  ruffian 
hesitated,  and  seemed  about  to  accept  the  implied  alter- 
native of  a fight,  when  Dan’l  of  North  Carolina,  who 
had  just  re-entered  the  room,  interposed,  saying,  ’Pears 
like  you ’d  better  pleasure  the  Kernel  thar.  He ’s  got 
the  dead-wood  on  yer ; his  weepon ’s  done  drawed ; 
hit ’s  a pore  show,  an’  yer  bound  to  git,  Mose ; t’other 
door,  sure ! ” 

A shout  from  the  road  here  caused  a fortunate  diver- 
sion, and  the  robbers  hastily  left  the  house.  Their  com- 
panions had  missed  them ; and,  instigated  by  Stephen 


A night's  woek. 


229 


Moore,  who  said  they  must  have  a quorum,”  and  by 
their  own  jealousy  lest  the  stragglers  should  obtain  an 
undue  portion  of  the  plunder  in  which  all  expected  to 
share,  after  the  slight  preliminary  of  lynching  the  owner, 
had  raised  a unanimous  call. 

Stephen  was  the  recognized  head  of  the  ex  tempore 
vigilance  committee.  No  one  could  have  disputed  it 
but  Harrison  Howe,  and  he  seemed  to  be  paralyzed  by 
the  new  turn  in  affairs.  Each  of  his  confederates 
thought  himself  unknown  as  an  actor  in  the  robbery ; 
Howe  knew  that  by  some  means,  and  to  some  extent, 
his  share  in  it  had  been  discovered ; and  already  he  was 
revolving  plans  for  escape,  surrendering  with  easy  fatal- 
ism those  other  plans  which  he  had  followed  hitherto 
with  so  much  pertinacity.  It  is  the  peculiarity  of  the 
gambler's  temperament  to  lose  with  equanimity. 

‘"This  place  ain't  quiet  enough,”  said  Stephen.  ''We 
don’t  need  any  witnesses,  beyond  ourselves,  — hey, Hank? 
When  you  made  a small  hole  in  old  Knuckles’s  head,  you 
did  n’t  hev  any  witnesses  ? ” 

" Drop  that ! ” growled  one  of  the  men;  " old  Knuckles 
was  my  pardner.” 

" Ex-cuse  me,”  replied  Stephen ; " I was  n't  aware  o’ 
that ; but  it  was  all  right,  you  know ; the  jury  said  it 
was  all  right,  — only  I was  n't  on  the  jury.  I wish  old 
Knuckles  was  here  now,  gentlemen ; he  was  a good  hand 
at  a vigilance  committee.” 

Mr.  Howe  was  exceedingly  uncomfortable,  and  could 
not  help  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  he  expected 
Knuckles  to  appear.  He  felt  that  he  was  steadily  losing 


230 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


ground  with  his  associates,  and  that  in  a few  moments 
more  he  might  be  on  trial  himself.  But  open  flight  was 
out  of  the  question ; so,  biding  his  time,  he  said,  sneer- 
ingly,  You  don’t  seem  to  be  in  any  hurry  for  business.” 
Start  your  team  easy,  if  you  mean  to  arrive  on  time,” 
replied  Stephen.  “ I allow  that ’s  a good  place  up  yon- 
der on  the  edge  of  the  canon,  under  the  pines.  A few 
rods  beyond  there,  you  can  see  pretty  near  the  whole  of 
the  Grade.  Mr.  Howe  will  just  step  up  there  and  look 
if  there ’s  anybody  coming ; and  by  the  time  he  gets 
back  to  us,  our  little  business  will  be  attended  to.  And 
perhaps  this  gentleman  will  look  down  the  road.  There ’s 
half  an  hour  of  moonshine  yet.” 

Hank  Howe  started  briskly  ahead  of  the  party,  and 
tall  Dan’l  remained  behind.  Stephen  led  the  main  body, 
his  hand  on  the  collar  of  the  speechless,  unresisting  sta- 
tion-keeper. If  Andrew  Campbell  had  cherished  any 
hope  of  escape,  it  vanished  with  Howe’s  departure. 
Some  vague  association  of  that  man’s  presence  with  the 
power,  and  possibly  the  willingness,  to  assist  him  had 
lingered  in  his  mind ; but  it  can  scarcely  be  said  that  he 
experienced  a pang  at  this  last  loss.  There  are  no  de- 
grees in  numbness. 

The  flve  vindicators  of  outraged  public  sentiment  fol- 
lowed closely,  in  a condition  of  mental  chaos.  Certainly 
they  did  not  constitute  a very  passionate  mob.  Two  of 
them  knew  well  that  Campbell  had  neither  suspected 
nor  betrayed  their  plot.  The  rest  had  got  their  belief  on 
the  subject  from  Howe ; and  now  they  were  seriously 
distrusting  Howe.  The  general  feeling,  therefore,  was  a 


A night’s  work. 


231 


readiness  to  follow  any  leader,  so  long  as  the  whole  body 
acted  together,  and  sauve  qui  jpeut  when  the  leader 
should  be  wanting. 

In  half  an  hour  the  party  reached  the  indicated  spot. 
It  was  separated  from  the  road  by  a belt  of  forest,  and 
from  the  precipitous  bluff  of  the  canon  by  a similar  belt, 
of  comparatively  small  width.  In  the  open  space  be- 
tween the  two,  Stephen  halted,  and,  with  a haste  quite 
in  contrast  to  his  previous  leisurely  manner,  proceeded 
to  the  trial. 

''  Prisoner,  stand  against  that  stump.  Gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  there ’s  no  need  o’  making  a long  rigmarole 
about  this  matter.  My  coach  was  stopped  and  cleaned 
out  on  the  Knuckles  Grade,  three  hours  ago.  You  all 
know  that,  — hey  ? If  anybody  says  this  prisoner  ain’t 
guilty,  let  him  say  so ; it ’s  unanimous.  Prisoner,  what 
have  you  got  to  say  ? The  prisoner  has  nothin’  to  say. 
If  any  man  thinks  this  prisoner  had  n’t  better  be  attended 
to  in  about  ten  minutes,  let  him  step  up : it ’s  unani- 
mous. Prisoner,  if  you ’ve  got  any  little  messages  for 
your  friends,  or  any  watch  or  any  photograph  you  want 
to  send  East,  or  any  pardner  to  take  charge  of  your 
traps,  now ’s  your  time  for  makin’  your  arrangements. 
These  gentlemen  will  do  the  fair  thing  by  you.” 

Andrew  Campbell  awoke  from  his  lethargy  with  a 
start  of  fresh,  keen  terror.  A message  — yes  — yes ; 
I will  send  a message  to  Kate.  I can  tell  her  now. 
My  God  ! why  was  I tongue-tied  before  ? But  you  will 
not  kill  me,  gentlemen ! I was  not  — I did  not  mean  to 
be  — ” 


232 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


''  You  Ve  got  no  time  to  lose/’  said  Stephen,  sternly ; 
we  don’t  hang  people  because  they  ’re  guilty : we  hang 
’em  because  they  ’re  found  guilty.  If  you  want  to  give 
me  any  private  messages,  we  ’ll  step  out  yonder,  and 
these  gentlemen  will  keep  the  time.  Eight  minutes, 
gentlemen.”  And  the  stage-driver,  leading  his  helpless 
victim,  disappeared  in  the  belt  of  trees  towards  the 
canon. 

Scarcely  a minute  had  passed,  when  a pistol-shot  was 
heard,  and  immediately  afterwards  Stephen  returned 
alone.  Gentlemen,”  said  he,  the  prisoner  attempted 
to  escape,  and  I was  obliged  to  draw  on  him.  I reckon 
it  hurt  him  some,  for  he  proceeded  in  the  wrong  direc- 
tion, and  went  over  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  I presume 
this  explanation  is  satisfactory.  If  any  man  ain’t  satis- 
fied,” he  added  grimly,  pistol  still  in  hand,  let  him  step 
out  and  say  so.  It ’s  unanimous.  This  court  is  hereby 
adjourned ; and  if  any  of  you  boys  had  a horse  hitched 
up  the  road  there,  that  man  Howe  has  stole  it.” 

Sure  enough,  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs  came  on 
the  wind  from  the  Grade.  The  effect  produced  upon  the 
jury  was  startling.  The  owner  of  the  animal,  with  a 
hoarse  oath,  and  a cry  of  Sold  ! ” (which  referred  doubt- 
less to  himself,  and  not  to  his  steed,)  rushed  away  in  vain 
pursuit ; and  the  rest  followed,  ostensibly  with  the  same 
purpose,  but  really  to  begin  a scattering  flight  through 
the  mountains,  since  the  desertion  of  their  late  leader 
was  proof  positive  of  his  meditated  or  already  completed 
treachery.  The  last  one  had  disappeared,  and  Stephen 
thought  himself  alone,  when  the  North- Carolinian 


A night’s  work. 


233 


loomed  up  among  the  shadows.  The  driver  could  afford 
to  be  plain-spoken  now,  — the  odds  were  even. 

You  ’re  another  of  ’em,”  said  Stephen,  fiercely ; “ do 
you  think  I don’t  know  your  peanut-eating,  snuff-dip- 
ping, yaller  old  head -light  ? ” 

Easy,  stranger,  easy ; don’  say  no  mo’  o’  that  talk. 
Hit ’s  mighty  onpleasant,  an’  nary  good  in ’t.  Whar ’s 
th’  ole  man  ? ” 

Out  o’  the  way.  Found  guilty ; and  Hank  Howe 
has  run  off  to  tell  on  the  rest  of  you.” 

You  did  n’t  done  kill  th’  ole  man ! ” pursued  the 
Southerner,  heedless  of  the  remainder  of  this  remark. 

I reckon  I ’m  boun’  to  hunt  up  th’  ole  man,  an’  I ’m 
gwine  to  do  it,  sure.” 

And  I reckon  you ’d  better  git  out  o’  this,  unless  you 
want  to  be  derricked.  If  you  care  anything  about  Andy, 
I don’t  mind  telling  you  that  he  is  safe  enough.  I don’t 
know  exactly  where,  probably  pretty  nigh  this  place. 
It  ain’t  more  ’n  ten  minutes  since  I fired  my  pistol  over 
his  head,  and  told  him  to  git.  He  was  guilty,  I knew 
that,  — saw  it  with  my  own  eyes ; but  I let  him  off  on 
account  of  the  girl.” 

Mought  ’a’  knowed  that ! ” remarked  the  other,  with 
much  apparent  satisfaction.  ''But  th’  ole  man  ain’t 
guilty ; he ’s  wind-shaken,  but  no  mo’  guilty  ’n  you  be. 
I done  seen  the  whole  thing.  ISTo ; I ain’t  afeard ; 
thar’s  my  passport.” 

He  handed  Stephen  a paper,  on  which  was  written, 
"Andrew  Campbell  or  Stephen  Moore  may  trust  the 
bearer.  Johnson.”  It  was  dated  the  day  before. 


234 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


How  did  you  get  this  ? ” 

In  town,  while  you  ’uns  was  abed,  I reckon.  The 
boys  thought  I was  gwine  for  grub ; but  I done  went  for 
to  see  Johnson.  Johnson  knowed  a heap  about  the  plan 
to  stop  the  coach ; and  he  allowed  to  ketch  Howe  and 
some  o’  the  rest.  ' But,’  says  he,  ' that ’s  no  use  without 
evidence ; an’  you  ’ll  git  the  evidence.  An’  besides,  you 
look  out  for  Moore  an’  Campbell ; and  don’  you  let  any 
of  the  boys  hurt  them!  ” 

''Keep  the  paper,”  said  Stephen,  handing  it  back. 
" If  Andy  is  innocent,  I ’m  sorry  I was  so  hard  on  him. 
The  best  thing  you  can  do  now  is  to  hang  around  here  a 
day  or  so.  He  ’ll  come  back  to  see  his  daughter.” 

They  returned  to  the  Home  Station.  The  doors  and 
shutters  were  closed,  and,  not  caring  to  wake  the  in- 
mates, the  two  entered  the  stable,  to  sleep  until  morning 
on  the  hay  heaped  in  an  unoccupied  stall. 

Let  us  now  sketch  briefly  the  course  of  events  within 
doors. 

After  the  intruders  had  departed,  Philip  lay  down 
again,  as  exhausted  as  if  he  had  been  actively  engaged 
in  the  exciting  scene  he  had  witnessed.  The  room  was 
now  lighted  by  the  moon  only,  which  shone  obliquely 
through  one  window,  and  plated  with  silver  a single 
strip  of  brightness  on  the  floor.  The  solitude  and  si- 
lence oppressed  him,  and  it  was  to  his  great  joy  that 
the  door  opened,  and  Kate  Campbell  entered  with  a 
lighted  candle.  Yet  how  could  he  comfort  her  ? 

To  his  surprise,  she  seemed  quite  calm  and  coura- 
geous. Her  anxiety  was  at  least  buried  out  of  sight. 


A NIGHT  S WORK. 


235 


She  closed  the  shutters  and  the  doors,  listening  for  a 
moment  in  vain,  as  she  did  so.  “ If  Father  and  Stephen 
come,’’  she  said, ''  I can  let  them  in.” 

Then  you  still  trust  in  Stephen,”  said  Philip,  per- 
plexed. 

Yes ; I trust  in  Stephen  — and  in  God.” 

With  quiet  efficiency  she  put  fresh  bandages  on  Phil- 
ip’s leg,  brought  him  a drink  of  water,  arranged  his  pil- 
low, and,  taking  her  seat  by  the  table,  made  a pretence 
of  sewing  as  usual.  But  this  was  too  much  for  her  self- 
control.  The  garment  upon  which  she  began  to  work 
was  one  of  her  father’s ; and,  after  a stitch  or  two,  she 
dropped  it  on  the  floor,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Philip  yearned  to  say  or  do  something ; but  he  was 
merely  a feather  on  the  sweeping  tide  of  events.  Oh!  ” 
he  groaned  aloud,  '4f  I were  not  a useless  cripple,  I 
might  serve  you,  or  show  at  least  how  I burn  to  serve 
you!” 

She  rose  at  once,  came  to  him,  and,  kneeling  by  his 
cot,  said  earnestly,  Mr.  Eussell,  do  not  think  me  un- 
grateful ; I will  never  forget,  so  long  as  I live,  what  you 
have  done  for  me  this  night.  Do  you  suppose  I do  not 
know  that  you  risked  your  life,  and  that  you  got  your 
hurt,  for  me  and  mine  ? Ah,  what  can  I do,  rather,  to 
serve  you  ? ” 

Trust  me,”  said  Philip,  eagerly,  “ as  — as  you  do 
Stephen.” 

To  this  impetuous  appeal  she  made  no  answer,  but, 
after  a moment’s  pause,  begged  to  hear  of  all  that  had 
passed  since  their  parting  the  night  before.  Philip  com- 


236 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


plied;  and  his  chagrin  at  her  silent  rebuke  of  his  too 
forward  friendship  melted  away,  as  he  saw  with  what 
absorbed  interest  she  followed  the  history  of  his  adven- 
turous journey  up  and  down  the  Grade.  It  was,  perhaps, 
because  Stephen  had  a part  in  it  all;  but  he  fancied 
that  she  bestowed  likewise  some  sympathy  on  him. 
And,  at  any  rate,  he  would  not  grudge  her  to  Stephen, 
who  — did  he  love  her  ? and  did  she  love  him  ? 

The  story  over,  Kate  went  to  the  door,  and  looked 
once  more  out  into  the  night.  There  was  nothing.  She 
closed  the  door  again,  and,  bidding  Philip  try  to  sleep, 
departed.  After  she  was  gone,  he  slid  easily  and  imper- 
ceptibly from  thoughts  of  her  to  dreams  of  her.  Among 
his  latest  sensations  was  that  of  a dull  hammering  noise 
in  another  room.  It  was  Miss  Campbell  pounding  up 
her  alabaster  vase ; an  explanation  not  a whit  less  ro- 
mantic than  Philip’s  impression  that  Harrison  Howe 
was  charging  at  the  house  with  a battering-ram,  and  that 
the  fair  lady  of  the  house  commanded  a brave  garrison 
consisting  of  one  Eussell,  while  the  banner  on  the  outer 
wall  bore  the  inspiring  motto,  ''  Me  and  Kate.” 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Stephen  and  Philip  slept 
soundly  that  night,  after  their  excitement  and  fatigue. 
But  if  Stephen  had  been  more  wakeful,  he  would  have 
been  aware  that  Andrew  Campbell  came  before  day- 
break, and  actually  took  his  two  horses  out  of  the  sta- 
ble ; that  he  proceeded  to  the  window  of  his  daughter’s 
room,  and  held  a hurried  conversation  with  her ; that 
she  passed  out  of  the  window  several  packages,  includ- 
ing a violin-case,  which  he  made  fast  to  the  saddle ; 


A night’s  work. 


237 


that,  after  a brief  interval,  she  came  out  herself  by  the 
front  door,  and  the  two  rode  away  together  as  dawn  was 
breaking;  and,  finally,  that  Dan’l  of  North  Carolina  had 
quietly  appropriated  a Wells  Fargo  horse,  and  followed 
them. 

As  for  Philip,  he  dreamed  at  last  that  Katherine 
Campbell  came  back  to  his  bedside,  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  brow ; and  that  when  he  did  not  stir,  being  fet- 
tered with  the  bliss  of  her  touch,  she  bent  over  him,  and 
let  fall  a tear  upon  his  face ; then  kissed  him,  and  de- 
parted, weeping.  Certainly,  if  Philip  had  been  more 
wakeful,  he  would  not  have  dreamed  all  that. 


238 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

OVERLAND. 

It  was  late  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day  following  the 
events  of  the  last  chapter,  when  Stephen  performed  his 
grand  surgical  operation  on  Philip’s  leg.  The  earlier 
occurrences  of  that  morning  the  reader  may  imagine, — 
how  the  stage-driver  woke  at  dawn,  and  was  surprised  to 
miss  his  bedfellow  and  the  horses ; how  he  was  still  fur- 
ther surprised  to  find  the  house  door  ajar,  which  had 
been  shut  the  night  afore ; how  he  peeped  into  the  kitch- 
en, and  found  a breakfast  all  ready,  except  the  final 
touch  of  heat  for  the  bacon  and  the  coffee  ; how  among 
the  dying  embers  was  the  bake-pan,  containing  the  cal- 
cined dust  of  the  alabaster  vase ; how  Philip  was  alone, 
and  as  much  amazed  as  his  friend  to  learn  that  Kate  had 
fled.  All  this  the  reader  may  imagine,  as  well  as  the 
racy  manner  in  which  Stephen  narrated  the  history  of 
the  vigilance  committee.  In  one  matter  only  would  I 
limit  the  reader’s  imagination  by  setting  up  before  him 
the  literal  facts ; namely,  when  Stephen  lifted  his 
dripping  head  from  the  wash-basin  in  the  corner,  that 
morning  (his  first  reconnoissance  being  over,  and  the 
expectation  of  breakfast  having  stimulated  him  to  a 
good  square  ” wash),  he  observed  a paper  pinned  to  the 
wall  beneath  the  diminutive  looking-glass,  and  addressed 


OVERLAND. 


239 


to  him.  It  was,  indeed,  a delicate  compliment  to  his 
personal  habits,  this  employment  of  the  toilet-corner  as 
a post-office  for  prompt  delivery ; as  though  one  should 
place  a ticket  for  to-morrow  evening’s  Philharmonic  as  a 
book-mark  in  the  Bible  of  a friend,  to  be  discovered  to- 
morrow morning  at  the  hour  of  Scripture  reading.  But 
Stephen  tore  down  the  paper  without  thinking  of  that, 
and  read  its  contents  hastily,  blotting  them  with  a good 
substitute  for  tears,  in  the  drops  that  fell  from  his  hair 
and  nose.  It  was  a note  from  Kate. 

Dear  Stephen  : — I am  going  with  my  father,  why  or 
where  I do  not  know.  He  says  you  spared  his  life,  but  he 
wishes  you  had  not.  Do  not  follow  or  try  to  find  us.  It 
will  only  make  him  worse,  perhaps  kill  him.  I must  have 
him  alone  for  a while.  If  you  will  take  the  Station,  and  run 
it  until  you  hear  from  me,  or  always,  it  will  be  better 
than  to  have  it  jumped.^  You  deserve  to  own  it.  There 
are  some  things,  and  the  safe- key,  buried  in  the  corral.  My 
father  will  not  tell  me  what  happened  last  night ; and  I 
don ’t  wish  to  keep  his  thoughts  on  it  by  asking  questions. 
But  I believe  I understand  you,  — indeed,  I trusted  you 
always,  — except  for  that  one  moment.  My  dear  brother,  I 
will  never  doubt  you  again,  nor  cease  to  bless  you. 

Katherine  Campbell. 

You  will  find  the  alabaster  in  the  kitchen,  properly 
baked,  I hope.  It^s  a new  kind  of  cookery  for  me.  Of 
course  Mr.  Bussell  will  stay  with  you,  and  you  will  take  good 
care  of  him  and  cure  him.  I envy  you  both.  [The  word 
both  was  interlined.]  . I am  afraid  I must  have  seemed  to  him 


* Found  unoccupied,  and  seized  by  adventurers. 


240 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


rather  forward  and  familiar.  He  would  not  understand  me, 
like  you.  If  he  ever  says  so,  tell  him  I have  met  him  before 
— at  Bayport.  Please  give  him  my  regards.  Father  is  wait- 
ing for  me ; I cannot  think  of  anything  more,  — or,  rather,  I 
think  of  too  many  things.  God  bless  you  both.  [That  word 
hath  interlined  again.]  Good  by.  Kate. 

A clear  title  to  the  ranch ! ” ejaculated  Stephen, 
when  he  had  read  the  letter.  He  handed  it  to  Philip, 
and  finished  his  washing  and  combing  while  the  latter 
perused  it.  Philip  studied  the  lines  closely,  giving  par- 
ticular attention  to  the  postscript.  He  wondered  whether 
Kate  was  like  other  women,  who,  as  all  philosophers 
agree,  put  the  most  important  matters  in  their  postscripts. 
And  as  for  the  two  interlined  hoths^  he  wished  the  first 
of  them  had  been  left  out ; but  the  kindly  afterthought 
that  prompted  the  second  was  precious.  Finally  he 
settled  on  the  enigma  of  that  previous  meeting  at  Bay- 
port,  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  solve.  The  solution 
was  on  its  way  to  him,  stamped  with  a three-cent  post- 
age-stamp,  and  drawn  by  six  horses.  But  that  he  could 
not  suspect,  nor  would  the  suspicion  have  added  just 
now  to  his  peace  of  mind.  It  is  hard,  when  one  yearns 
to  know,  to  be  satisfied  with  knowing  that  one  shall 
subsequently  know,  whether  in  love  or  religion. 

^^Well,  partner,”  quoth  Stephen,  cheerily,  'Hhe  first 
thing  is  to  mend  the  leg.  After  that,  I guess  Kate  \s 
about  right ; my  business  is  to  stick  by  you  till  you  get 
well,  and  not  go  gallivanting  after  her.  She  T1  take  care 
of  herself  and  the  old  man  too  ; and  some  of  these  days, 
perhaps,  they  H come  back.  Not  but  I ’d  go  on  the  trail 


OVERLAND. 


241 


if  I was  alone;  but  Kate  says  stay,  and  she  knows 
best.  Kow,  most  women,”  continued  he,  reflectively,  while 
he  unwound  the  injured  limb  and  examined  its  condition, 

you  Ve  got  to  look  out  for,  and  judge  for,  and  help  ’em, 
in  spite  of  ’em.  But  if  Kate  Campbell  needs  anything 
from  me,  she  ’ll  know  it  before  I do,  and  she  ’ll  out  with 
it,  sure.” 

Was  this  perfect  openness  of  trust  like  the  shy  reserve 
of  maidenly  love  ? Philip  pondered  the  question  pain- 
fully, and  stumbled  always  at  the  one  unknown  and  por- 
tentous element  of  the  case,  — the  utter  imlikeness,  as 
he  thought,  of  this  young  woman  to  all  other  young 
women.  An  age  or  two  ago,  he  had  said  to  her  that  she 
reminded  him  of  his  sister.  How  silly ! 

Stephen  now  declared  the  leg  to  be  fit  for  surgical 
treatment,  and  proceeded  to  show  what  he  knew  about 
bone-setting,  which  was,  indeed,  quite  sufficient  for  a 
simple  fracture.  He  was  not  embarrassed  by  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  faculty ; his  service  in  the  army  had  made 
him  acquainted  with  the  latest  novelties,  simple  and  ef- 
fective, developed  by  ingenuity  under  the  pressure  of 
necessity  in  the  field. 

He  prepared  what  seemed  to  Philip  an  enormous  length 
of  bandage,  by  tearing  up  several  towels  and  a sheet,  and 
stitching  together  the  ends  of  the  strips  with  needle  and 
thread  from  his  pocket. 

''  Always  carry  ’em,”  said  he.  Keedles  and  pins  and 
string  and  wire  and  a jackknife  and  a revolver,  — that’s 
a man ’s  necessary  baggage.” 

Then  he  made  a blanket  bandage,  not  so  long.  Then 

11  p 


242 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


he  filled  the  wash-basin  with  hot  water,  to  which  he 
added  a little  salt.  The  long  bandage,  dusted  with  the 
calcined  alabaster  of  Miss  Campbell’s  vase,  was  rolled 
up,  and  immersed  in  the  hot  brine. 

Without  adjusting  the  bones,  Stephen  wound  the  pa- 
tient’s leg  in  the  blanket  bandage,  securing  it  with  a 
few  stitches  at  intervals.  In  three  minutes  this  part  of 
the  work  was  complete,  and  the  application  of  the  long 
bandage  began.  Before  putting  this  on,  he  extended  the 
foot,  and  brought  the  broken  bones  carefully  into  place. 
Then  the  plastered  roll  was  taken  from  the  basin,  squeezed 
to  remove  the  superfluous  water,  and  rolled  with  dex- 
terous rapidity  and  firmness  round  and  round,  unwind- 
ing as  it  went,  from  the  base  of  the  toes  over  the  whole 
leg  to  the  knee.  Each  turn  he  smoothed  with  his  hand, 
rubbing  in  the  moist  plaster,  and,  as  he  said, ''  putting  on 
a polish.”  Eor  a few  minutes  more  he  held  the  limb 
motionless,  and  then  laid  it  carefully  down  on  a piece  of 
rubber  blanket,  cautioning  Philip  not  to  stir  it  until  the 
splint  had  become  quite  dry  and  hard. 

I shall  spare  the  reader  further  details  of  Philip’s  re- 
covery. Stephen’s  manipulation  was  perfectly  scientific. 
They  don’t  do  the  thing  better  in  Paris,  or  Berlin,  or 
Vienna  ; and  the  average  sawbones  of  the  rural  districts 
does  not  begin  to  do  it  so  well.  The  result  was,  that  in 
three  weeks  Philip  was  walking  without  a crutch,  and  in 
six  weeks  he  was  as  well  as  ever,  without  the  slightest 
trace,  in  the  shape  or  length  of  the  mended  leg,  that  it 
had  ever  been  other  than  whole.  But  I must  not  antici- 
pate the  course  of  events. 


OVERLAND. 


243 


The  surgical  operation  was  scarcely  over  when  Mr. 
Jolinson  arrived  from  Goldopolis.  He  was  not  satisfied 
with  the  result  of  his  stratagems.  Like  all  highly  artis- 
tic detectives,  he  had  attempted  too  much.  The  detec- 
tive is  not  content  to  prevent  a crime ; his  ambition  is 
to  have  it  committed,  and  then  catch  the  man  who  did 
it.  In  the  present  instance.  Hank  Howe’s  employment 
of  three  confederates  as  passengers  had  been  unsuspected. 
It  was  a deeper  plot,  which  the  astute  gambler  had  not 
confided  even  to  his  accomplice,  the  express-agent.  Nor 
had  the  detective’s  detective,  from  North  Carolina,  dis- 
covered it  in  time  to  make  it  known  to  his  principal. 
Mr.  Johnson  had  suspected  some  foul  play  towards 
Campbell ; but,  knowing  by  experience  the  usual  blood- 
less character  of  these  highway  robberies,  had  contented 
himself  with  directing  his  subordinate  to  look  after  the 
old  man.  (Everybody  thought  of  Andrew  as  old.)  Now 
he  wished  that  he  had  arrested  Howe  in  town,  before  the 
coach  started.  Then  all  this  confusion  would  have  been 
spared.  He  seemed  particularly  pained  to  find  Philip 
injured.  I knew  your  father,  young  man,”  said  he, 
and  I ’m  sorry  his  son  has  come  to  any  trouble  by  me.” 

Philip  was  eager  to  follow  up  this  clew,  hoping  that 
the  person  who  had  known  his  father  might  also  have 
known  the  Campbells  ; but  Stephen  ignorantly  prevent- 
ed him,  by  asking  some  question  about  the  pursuit  of 
the  robbers. 

"'0,  we  needn’t  track  them,”  said  Mr.  Johnson,  in- 
differently. The  company  don’t  care  to  spend  money 
in  a case  where  it  has  n’t  lost  any.  It ’s  only  a question 


244 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


of  time.  They  won’t  go  far;  and,  if  we  keep  quiet, 
they  T1  all  turn  up  here  again  by  spring.  If  they  had 
the  dust,  now,  it  would  be  different.  Then  they  would 
start  off  somewhere  to  spend  it,  and  we  should  after  ’em, 
helter-skelter,  to  catch  ’em  before  they  had  spent  it. 
But  I must  go  right  back  to  town.  I only  came  down 
to  see  how  you  were  getting  on.  Sorry  the  Campbells 
are  gone,  Steve,  but  you  ’re  right.  Let  the  old  man  rest 
for  a while,  and  lie  low.  It  ’ll  do  him  good.  You  keep 
Station,  and  I ’ll  make  Mr.  Eussell  here  the  temporary 
express-agent.  Something  light,  to  keep  his  mind  occu- 
pied. Poor  Campbell ! The  queerest  man  I ever  saw. 
Can’t  quite  make  up  my  mind,  this  minute,  whether  he ’s 
innocent;  not  this  last  business,  though, — did  n’t  know 
any  more  of  that  than  a baby,  — but  an  old  affair  in 
Bayport.” 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Johnson  was  walking  away  to 
mount  his  horse.  Stephen  accompanied  him  to  the  door, 
and  Philip  heard  fragments  only  of  his  closing  sentences : 
forgery  ” ; owned  up  ” ; ran  away  ” ; “I  always 
said  ” ; ''  believe  it  yet  ” ; and  so  on : then  the  final. 
Well,  take  care  o’  yourself,  old  fellow ! ” and  the  retreat 
of  galloping  hoofs.  Philip  did  not  ask  Stephen  for  the 
particulars.  He  was  smitten  with  a sudden  dread  of 
knowing  them,  still  more  of  discussing  them. 

The  days  passed  on,  not  unpleasantly.  Stephen  was 
excellent  company,  and  proved  to  be  a most  popular 
station-keeper,  though  the  daughter  and  the  violin  of  his 
predecessor  were  much  missed  by  the  frequenters  of  the 
establishment.  The  cause  of  their  disappearance  was. 


OVERLAND. 


245 


however,  sedulously  concealed.  Mr.  Johnson  kept  his 
own  counsel,  and,  after  arranging  matters  in  the  Goldopolis 
office,  departed  mysteriously  eastward,  on  the  Company’s 
service.  Stephen  invariably  replied  to  all  queries,  that 
Campbell  and  his  daughter  had  gone  off  on  a visit,  and 
left  him  to  run  the  ranch.  The  other  witnesses  to  the 
robbery,  except  Philip,  who  was  as  reticent  as  Stephen, 
were  scattered  abroad ; and  most  of  them  believed  Camp- 
bell to  be  dead,  — shot  by  Stephen,  and  thrown  over  the 
bluff,  after  having  been  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  But  the 
circumstances  of  their  connection  with  the  case  were 
such  that  they  prudently  avoided  spreading  any  rumors 
about  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the  general  rule  of  silence 
observed  by  all  vigilants  ” concerning  their  own 
doings. 

Philip  felt  much  sympathy  with  the  women  and  chil- 
dren of  the  miners,  and  with  the  men  who  came  as  of 
old  to  read  the  papers  and  books  that  Kate  had  provided, 
and  who  felt  that  half  the  charm  of  literature  had  de- 
parted with  her  face.  He  knew  how  they  missed  her,  — 
did  he  not  miss  her  much  more  ? Every  day  brought 
him  new  proofs  of  her  goodness  and  heroism,  her  brave 
self-forgetfulness,  her  merry  helpfulness.  For  her  sake, 
he  even  tried  to  supply  her  place.  He  told  the  miners 
strange  stories  out  of  classic  and  mediaeval  history,  and 
listened  in  return  to  their  wild  or  comic  legends  of 
the  Sierra.  He  even  took  up  Kate’s  Sunday-school 
class,  dividing  the  weekly  exercise  into  two  parts  (Part 
I.  — Talk  about  the  lesson ; Part  II.  — Talk  about  Kate), 
both  of  which  proved  agreeable  and  profitable ; and  he 


246 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


realized  suddenly  the  result  of  a gradual  change  wrought 
in  his  temper  by  contact  with  the  active  world.  His 
metaphysical  ghosts  melted  away,  and  troubled  him  no 
more.  Vexatious  questions  of  philosophy  actually  seemed 
of  their  own  accord  to  climb  up  and  lay  themselves  on 
the  shelf,  saying  mutely, ''  This  is  the  place  for  us.”  Once 
in  a while  he  took  them  down,  examined  them  curious- 
ly, and  allowed  them  to  put  themselves  away  again.  He 
felt  the  half-truth,  at  least,  of  Stephen’s  remark,  It ’s 
all  very  well  to  try,  just  for  fun,  to  see  the  inside  of  your 
own  head ; but  if  you  keep  it  up,  you  11  get  cross-eyed.” 
But  Stephen  soon  left  him  to  keep  house  and  run  the 
reading-room  and  Sunday-school  alone.  The  cause  of 
this  change  was  the  arrival  of  Alice’s  long  letter,  growing 
out  of  the  conversation  at  the  clam-bake,  detailed  in  a 
former  chapter.  He  showed  the  letter  to  Stephen,  and 
its  contents  stirred  them  both  profoundly.  Philip  was 
proud,  of  course,  to  know  how  highly  his  old  friend  Mor- 
ton held  his  new  friend  Moore  ; but  he  had  known  some- 
thing of  that  before.  To  him  the  light  shed  upon  the 
history  of  Kate  and  her  father  was  more  profoundly  in- 
teresting. Stephen  shared  this  feeling ; and,  putting 
things  together  in  more  unrestrained  discussion  than  they 
had  ever  before  indulged  on  this  subject,  they  constructed 
a theory  of  Andrew  Campbell’s  character  and  career 
that  was  not  far  from  the  truth.  But  Stephen’s  special 
attention  was  enchained  by  the  story  of  his  own  exploits? 
set  forth  with  glowing  eloquence  by  Alice,  whose  version 
was  more  enthusiastic,  if  less  detailed  and  accurate,  than 
Morton’s.  How  generously  Morton  must  have  praised 


OVERLAND. 


247 


him,  to  rouse  such  admiration  in  the  heart  of  such  a 
fair  and  noble  woman  ! 

Dear  Alice  T’  said  Philip ; how  I wish  she  was  here  ! ’’ 
Send  for  her/’  promptly  replied  Stephen,  with  a sud- 
den inspiration  of  folly. 

Folly  it  seemed  to  both  at  first ; they  laughed  at  it,  and 
then  looked  at  each  other  as  if  to  say, Well,  after  all  ? ” 

The  subject  would  not  let  itself  be  dropped.  There 
was  the  telegraph,  offering  the  means  of  instant  commu- 
nication; the  railroad  as  far  as  Atchison;  the  daily 
stages  from  there  onward.  She  could  get  some  friend  to 
accompany  her.  Stephen  would  go  to  Atchison  to  meet 
them,  and  escort  them  safely  through.  Women  were 
coming  every  day  to  their  husbands,  brothers,  and  sons 
on  the  Pacific  coast.  The  thing  was  feasible.  Allowing 
time  for  Stephen  to  reach  Atchison,  Alice  could  be  with 
her  brother  in  less  than  three  weeks. 

The  upshot  of  it  all  was,  that  Philip  wrote  a telegram, 
just  to  see  how  it  would  look.  This  is  how  it  looked  : — 
''Leg  broken,  but  doing  well.  Can  you  and  Aunt 
Margaret  come  on  ? Stephen  Moore  will  meet  you  at 
Atchison  in  ten  days.” 

He  was  so  well  satisfied  with  its  appearance,  that  he 
sent  it  by  the  wires  from  Goldopolis  the  next  day;  Stephen 
riding  into  town  at  dawn  to  take  the  message,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  catch  the  coach  going  East.  Before  he  left, 
Alice’s  letter  was  by  agreement  divided,  Philip  retaining 
the  sheets  which  told  of  the  Campbells,  and  Stephen 
appropriating  the  account  given  of  himself.  " Must  have 
something  to  read  on  the  road,”  said  he. 


248 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


At  the  moment  Alice  received  Philip’s  telegram,  she 
had  but  recently  finished  reading  Philip’s  long  letter 
from  Goldopolis,  in  which  both  the  Campbells  and 
Stephen  Moore  were  fervently  praised  and  fully  described. 
As  she  had  written  to  Philip  concerning  these  people,  so 
on  the  same  day  he  had  written  to  her,  each  supposing 
the  other  a stranger  to  the  persons  whose  biographies 
were  partly  given.  The  mood  into  which  Alice  was 
thrown  by  this  sudden  meeting,  face  to  face  almost, 
with  the  hero  who  had  served  hitherto  as  a frame  to  hang 
her  imaginations  upon,  was  one  of  curiosity,  dread,  and 
overpowering  gratitude.  Por  this  noble  being  had  saved 
her  brother’s  life,  — though  Philip,  too,  had  been  a hero 
there,  — and  was  her  brother’s  friend,  of  course,  forever. 
Her  admiration  and  affection  were  freely  bestowed  upon 
him,  without  a shade  of  any  feeling  save  that  of  exalted 
friendship.  She  longed  to  see  him  — and  Kate  Camp- 
bell, whom  of  course  he  loved,  who  certainly  could 
not  help  loving  him,  and  who,  according  to  Philip’s  ac- 
count, was  every  way  worthy  of  him. 

The  thought  crossed  her  mind  that  Philip  himself 
might  be  more  deeply  interested  in  Miss  Campbell  than 
he  chose  to  confess ; and  she  even  caught  herself  specu- 
lating upon  the  possible  consequences  of  rivalry  between 
the  two  friends.  It  was  a problem  like  that  of  the  meet- 
ing of  two  irresistible  forces;  but  she  reflected  that 
Philip,  by  his  own  declaration,  would  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  partner,”  and  that,  moreover,  it  would  be  for 
him  no  defeat  to  withdraw,  Mr.  Moore  having  really 
won  before  he  had  appeared.  She  talked  the  matter 


OVERLAND. 


249 


over  very  freely  with  Aunt  Margaret,  and  waited  with 
eagerness  for  further  news. 

It  came  sooner  than  she  expected,  and  in  a form  which 
caused  her  to  forget  all  but  her  brother’s  suffering. 
Philip,  man-like,  had  omitted  to  consider  that  the  brief 
statements  of  his  telegram  left  an  affectionate  sister  no 
recourse  but  to  fly  to  his  side.  He  thought  it  would  be 
all  right.  Aunt  Margaret  or  somebody  would  come 
along.  As  it  turned  out.  Aunt  Margaret  was,  at  the  last 
moment,  rendered  unable  to  travel  by  a sudden  attack 
of  an  old  complaint,  which,  though  it  threatened  nothing 
worse  than  a tedious  confinement  to  the  house,  forbade 
her  attempting  so  long  a journey,  particularly  at  so  late 
a season.  And  Alice,  under  a high-pressure  sense  of 
sisterly  duty,  started  alone.  Mr.  Morton,  whose  relation 
as  the  friend  and  business  agent  of  the  family,  and  as 
Philip’s  employer,  would  have  made  him  an  available 
escort,  was  of  course  occupied  with  his  newspaper  business, 
than  which  there  is  none  more  exacting;  and  recent 
events  made  it  a delicate  matter  to  ask  a sacrifice  from 
him,  for  which  there  was  no  real  necessity.  She  was 
not  afraid  to  travel  alone.  Ho  healthy  and  sensible 
American  woman  need  fear  to  traverse  her  own  country. 
She  will  find  everywhere  chivalrous  protection  and  unob- 
trusive helpfulness. 

Such  was  her  experience  in  this  case.  The  railroad 
journey  from  Bayport  to  Atchison  was  effected  with  per- 
fect ease  and  comfort,  thanks  to  a series  of  courteous  con- 
ductors, who  passed  her  on  from  hand  to  hand  like  a 
piece  of  precious  freight,  looked  after  her  baggage,  and 
11^ 


250 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


secured  for  her  in  advance,  by  telegraph,  sleeping-car 
sections,  which  increased  in  convenience  and  beauty  as 
she  proceeded  westward,  until  they  culminated  in  the 
solid,  roomy,  tasteful,  and  luxurious  Pullman  ” pat- 
tern. 

She  had  timed  her  departure  so  as  to  reach  Atchison 
by  the  day  appointed ; and  this  she  accomplished,  with- 
out pausing  on  the  road,  in  only  two  hours  more  than  the 
Eailway  Guide  prescribed ; so  regularly,  day  and  night, 
over  the  vast  breadth  of  a continent,  ply  the  shuttles  of 
interior  commerce  that  weave  our  homogeneous  though 
many-colored  national  life.  If  Mr.  Frank  Vane,  at  that 
time  engaged  in  amateur  investigations  at  St.  Louis,  had 
been  aware  of  her  passage  through  the  town,  he  would 
certainly  have  taken  pains  to  see  her.  But  she  preferred 
not  to  see  him  at  present ; and  so  over  the  rolling  prai- 
ries of  Missouri  she  went  forward  day  and  night,  until 
Atchison  was  reached.  Here  she  left  the  cars,  at  last 
feeling  as  though  she  were  indeed  alone.  The  wilder- 
ness was  before  her. 

O Stephen  Moore ! how  could  you  transform  your- 
self in  three  hours  from  the  commonplace  individual  who 
arrived  by  the  morning  coach,  with  a linen  duster  reach- 
ing from  his  neck  to  his  heels,  and  a huge  pair  of  mus- 
tard-colored blankets  for  baggage,  into  the  startling  swell 
with  spotless  shirt-front  and  fashionable  walking-suit 
and  kid  gloves,  who  now  lifted  a new  silk  hat,  and  re- 
vealed his  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  as  he  inquired  if 
this  were  Miss  Eussell  ? There  could  be  but  one  expla- 
nation of  the  metamorphosis.  Stephen  had  had  himself 


OVERLAND. 


251 


got  up  by  contract,  regardless  of  expense.  The  proprietor 
of  the  bath-house,  where  he  resorted  for  renovation  after 
his  journey,  was  accustomed  to  receive  commissions  of 
that  character,  and  found  his  profit  in  the  complete 
furnishing  of  "Agents.”  Men  entered  his  establishment 
hirsute,  dirty,  ragged,  and  tired.  They  emerged  shorn, 
shaven,  shirted,  and  shiny. 

Alice  was  one  of  those  sensible  feminine  travellers 
who  are  always  neat,  because  they  dress  simply  and 
suitably,  without  flounces,  furbelows,  flying  ribbons  and 
feathers,  or  frowzy  curls.  So,  in  spite  of  her  long  jour- 
ney, she  looked  like  her  picture  ; and  Stephen,  who  knew 
her  at  once,  said  to  himself,  “There’s  no  discount  on 
herr 

In  a few  moments  they  were  dining  together  at  the 
hotel,  whence  the  overland  coach  was  to  start  in  an  hour. 
Conversation  between  them  had  its  little  spasms  of  diffi- 
culty, followed  by  intervals  of  ease.  They  could  not 
quite  know  what  to  dwell  upon,  and  what  to  avoid.  Of 
course,  Philip  was  safe  common  ground ; him  they  both 
knew  and  both  loved.  Stephen  gave  a brief  outline  of 
the  recent  adventures,  and  promised  details  afterwards. 
A telegram  from  Philip  that  morning  had  informed  Ste- 
phen that  all  was  well  at  the  Station.  Alice’s  glow  of 
joy  at  the  news,  and  her  deep  exhilaration  at  the  thought 
of  meeting  her  brother  soon,  her  naive  enthusiasm 
which  counted  what  was  left  of  the  journey  as  nothing, 
quite  bewitched  Stephen.  It  was  not  Kate  Camp- 
bell’s courage  that  Alice  showed,  but  the  fearlessness  of 
an  innocent  child.  Kate  would  not  have  been  afraid  of 


252 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


the  stage-journey ; but  then  her  not  being  afraid  would 
not  have  particularly  called  for  admiration. 

As  Alice  talked  of  her  brother,  Stephen  watched  the 
expressive  play  of  her  features,  and  scarcely  noted  her 
words  until  he  heard  her  say,  And  I ’m  so  glad,  Mr. 
Moore,  that  you  and  he  are  friends,  and  have  stood  by 
each  other  in  danger.  It  was  just  what  Philip  needed, 
to  bring  out  the  powers  that  I always  knew  he  had,  — a 
friend  of  your  — experience.” 

She  had  called  Stephen’s  character  by  better  names 
than  that,  — heroism,  nobility,  generosity,  inborn  com- 
mand, and  such  thorough-going  epithets ; but  what  she 
had  said  in  poetry  or  in  soliloquy,  in  the  abstract,  was 
scarcely  to  be  spoken  to  his  face ; so  she  merely  spoke 
of  his  experience,”  and  was  angry  with  herself  to  find 
the  word  so  cold.  But  Stephen  interpreted  it  in  the 
light  of  the  manuscript  of  her  last  letter  to  Philip,  which 
he  carried  in  his  breast-pocket,  and  knew  by  heart.  It 
was  with  a certain  sense  of  self-inflicted  penance  that  he 
replied,  He  could  n’t  have  a better  friend  than  Alf  Mor- 
ton. I have  n’t  asked  after  Morton  yet ; but  you  must  not 
think  I had  forgotten  him.”  (Stephen,  Stephen ! you 
know  you  had  forgotten  all  about  him,  from  the  time  you 
set  eyes  on  his  fiancee.  But  you  made  up  for  it  by  re- 
calling him  now  with  something  like  a pang.) 

To  his  perplexity,  Alice  received  this  remark  with 
some  coolness,  saying  that  she  believed  Mr.  Morton  was 
well ; she  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time.  Poor  Ste- 
phen took  this  as  a rebuke  for  his  broad  hint  that  he 
appreciated  the  tender  relations  between  the  parties. 


OVERLAND. 


253 


course,”  he  thought,  ''it's  none  of  my  business. 
She 's  just  one  o'  my  passengers,  that 's  all ; I 've  no  call 
to  be  twitting  her  about  her  sweetheart.”  Whereupon  he 
made  matters  worse  by  begging  her  pardon,  and  she 
capped  the  climax  of  embarrassment  by  blushing,  and 
saying  there  was  nothing  to  pardon ; and  a silence  ensued 
during  which  both  paid  an  amount  of  attention  to  the 
dinner  which  it  really  did  not  deserve. 

But  Alice,  not  comprehending  and  not  wishing  to  in- 
vestigate the  nature  of  his  mortification,  bethought  her- 
self, in  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  of  a subject  which 
could  not  be  other  than  agreeable  to  him.  " Mr.  Moore,” 
said  she,  " I ought  to  have  asked  about  Miss  Campbell 
and  her  father.  From  what  Philip  wrote  in  his  last  let- 
ter, I am  sure  she  must  be  charming.  I know  I shall 
like  her.” 

Stephen  felt  an  uncomfortable  significance  in  this  in- 
nocent remark.  But  the  feeling  vanished  before  his 
simple  loyalty.  "No,  sir,”  he  said  to  himself,  "I  won't 
go  back  on  Kate.”  And  in  his  anxiety  to  render  full 
justice  to  friendship  he  somewhat  overdid  the  matter. 
" Kate  and  Andy  are  gone,  nobody  knows  where.  They 
cleared  out  in  the  night,  after  the  robbery.  But  I '11  tell 
you  all  about  that  on  the  road.  No  use  o'  staking  our 
whole  stock  o'  news  on  the  first  deal.  But  don't  you 
be  afraid  about  Kate.  She  can  take  care  of  herself  and 
the  old  man  too.  And  if  she  wants  any  help  from  me, 
she  'll  let  me  know.  There 's  no  fooling  about  Kate. 
No  more  like  any  other  woman  than  — present  company 
excepted,”  added  Stephen,  glad  of  a way  out  of  that  sen- 
tence. 


254 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Philip  liked  her  very  much/’  said  Alice,  following  np 
the  pleasing  theme. 

''  I should  think  so ; who  don’t  ? ” replied  the  stage- 
driver,  without  a trace  of  jealousy.  ‘"If  you’d  seen  the 
way  she  watched  and  tended  him  there,  in  the  midst  of 
her  own  troubles ! You  see,  Kate  had  the  advantage  of 
Philip ; she ’d  seen  him  before,  and  he  could  n’t  remem- 
ber her.  Women  do  take  the  prize  for  remembering  peo- 
ple, — hey.  Miss  Eussell?  ” 

Thus  they  started  on  the  overland  trip,  each  quite  se- 
cure in  the  belief  of  the  already  mortgaged  condition  of 
the  other’s  heart ; a barrier  on  either  side  of  which  the 
flowers  of  sentiment  might  spring  unseen,  and  grow  in 
sweet  mutual  ignorance  until,  reaching  at  last  the  top, 
their  rosy  blossoms  should  look  one  another  in  the  face. 
But  the  barrier  was  not  altogether  a phantasm ; for 
though  Alice  was  not  engaged  to  Morton,  Stephen  was, 
in  a certain  sense,  engaged  to  Kate ; that  is,  he  had  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife,  and  left  the  offer  open.  As  he 
put  it  to  himself,  she  had  an  option  on  him,  and  no 
time  set.” 

Stephen’s  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  tricks  of 
travel,  and  his  boon-companionship  with  drivers  and 
agents  all  along  the  road,  enabled  him  to  play  the  part 
of  what  European  tourists  call  a courier  ” with  great 
success.  The  best  seat  in  the  coach  — in  front,  with  the 
back  to  the  horses  — was  always  reserved,  as  if  by  magic, 
for  Alice,  with  the  privilege  of  a place  outside  whenever 
she  wished  for  a change.  At  the  lonesome  way-stations, 
unexpected  refreshments  were  offered  from  most  unprom- 


OVEELAND. 


255 


ising  quarters,  but  of  excellent  quality,  as  might  have 
been  expected  by  any  one  who  had  known  how  Stephen 
had  planted  the  whole  road  with  canned  luxuries,  and 
warned  all  his  friends  to  do  their  level  best  in  the  way 
of  coffee  on  his  return. 

Days  and  nights  they  travelled  over  the  vast  plains, 
— buffalo  and  antelope  in  the  distance,  like  dark  sails  on 
a tawny  sea ; prairie  dogs  near  by,  sitting  on  end  like 
miniature  kangaroos,  or  diving  into  their  holes,  as  the 
coach  sped  by.  Then  Denver,  even  then  (and  much 
more  now)  the  metropolis  of  the  plains,  the  Venice  of 
the  great  ocean  of  land.  Alice  gazed  in  speechless  de- 
light, from  the  top  of  the  coach,  at  the  magnificent  ranges 
of  the  Eocky  Mountains,  behind  the  city,  — two  hundred 
miles  of  the  mighty  chain  visible  at  once,  its  canons 
and  foot-hills  soft  with  the  shadows  of  the  morning 
twilight,  and  its  snowy  summits  already  afire  with 
the  sun. 

Then  they  skirted  the  mountains  for  a day  and  a night, 
following  the  Platte,  and  at  last,  passing  Fort  Laramie, 
they  crossed  the  South  Pass,  — rugged  hills  around  them, 
and  the  sublime  Wind  Eiver  ranges  gleaming  afar  to  the 
north.  Echo  Canon,  which  had  not  then  echoed  to  the 
rude  clamors  of  the  railway,  sent  back  from  its  red  cliffs 
the  cracks  of  the  driver’s  whip.  The  more  quiet  and 
picturesque  Weber  Canon,  through  which  the  railroad 
now  passes,  they  left  on  the  right,  as  they  swerved  south- 
ward ; and  the  mighty  precipices  of  the  Wahsatch  over- 
shadowed them  as  they  emerged,  at  last,  through  tortu- 
ous Parley’s  Canon,  into  the  broad  and  peacefrd  valley. 


256 


BEAVE  HEAETS. 


where  the  great  Salt  Lake  spread  its  sheet  of  burnished 
silver. 

After  the  first  day  or  two,  Alice  found  herself  rather 
invigorated  than  fatigued  by  this  incessant  travel.  It 
was  like  exercise,  without  the  trouble  of  exercising. 
Neither  at  Denver  nor  at  Salt  Lake  did  she  care  to  stop 
longer  than  the  time-table  prescribed.  So  through  the 
wide,  tree-bordered,  brook- watered,  yet  albeit  very  windy 
and  dusty,  streets  of  the  City  of  the  Saints  they  sped  on- 
ward into  the  desert  of  sage-brush  and  alkali.  This  was 
dreary,  but  not  without  its  beauties  and  delights.  The 
dry  pure  air,  the  marvellous  tints  of  sunset  and  sunrise 
on  the  bare  mountains,  the  mirage  of  a lake  with  bowery 
shores  that  sometimes  flitted  just  before  the  horses'  feet, 
— these  things,  and  Stephen's  conversation,  made  the 
desert  fairly  blossom  to  her  thought. 

For,  by  this  time,  the  two  travellers  had  reached  a 
very  intimate  friendship.  One  overland  trip  is  as  good 
as  a cycle  of  Cathay  " for  such  a purpose.  Though  never 
the  only  passengers,  they  were  the  only  ones  who  had 
made  the  continuous  journey.  People  had  got  in  or  out 
at  many  points  on  the  road,  and  Alice  had  cared  nothing 
for  their  coming  or  going ; but  Stephen  was  constant, 
with  his  skillful  care,  and  his  quaint  humor,  and  the 
splendid  power  which  she  knew  lay  hidden  under  all, 
ready  to  spring  forth  in  her  defense.  Day  after  day 
lulled  her  into  a delicious  dream  of  journeying  forever 
thus,  — they  two,  on  the  long  road,  holding  on  their  way, 
while  others  came  and  went,  according  to  trivial  circum- 
stances. 


OVERLAND. 


257 


Not  far  from  Egan  Canon,  they  met  at  early  morning, 
as  they  had  done  daily  and  nightly  since  the  beginning, 
the  overland  coach  going  the  other  way.  As  usual,  the 
two  coaches  stopped  for  an  interchange  of  news  and 
views  ; but  this  time  the  eastward-bound  driver  had 
something  to  say  which  he  did  not  care  to  have  the  pas- 
sengers overhear.  Stephen  descended  and  crossed  to  him, 
to  take  the  message.  It  was  not  pleasant : a band  of 
Piutes  were  said  to  have  gone  on  the  war-path,  and  to 
be  somewhere  along  the  road. 

I have  heard  a simple,  touching  story  of  a locomotive 
engineer,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  run  the  lightning 
express  by  night,  through  tunnels  and  over  bridges  and 
around  curves,  without  a thought  of  fear,  but  who  was 
well-nigh  paralyzed  with  anxiety  on  one  occasion,  merely 
because  his  little  grandson  was  in  the  train  behind  him. 
Something  like  this  Stephen  felt  at  the  prospect  of  a 
running  fight  with  the  Indians,  whom  he  ordinarily  de- 
spised, but  whom  he  now  dreaded  unspeakably.  The 
shock  overthrew  every  barrier  of  concealment  in  his  soul, 
and  left  him  to  face  the  fact  that  he  loved  with  all  his 
might  the  woman  who  was  to  marry  Morton. 

Alice,  who  was  riding  outside,  read  tragedy  in  his  eyes 
as  he  returned. 

''  You  must  get  inside  the  coach.  Miss  Eussell.’’ 

''  May  I not  stay  here  — with  you  ? If  there  is  any 
danger,  I am  sure  I shall  feel  safer.” 

You  do  not  know  what  the  danger  is,  or  you  — Dan- 
ger ? what  danger  ? I did  n’t  say  danger ! ” 

He  stood  on  the  foot-board,  facing  her.  The  other 

Q 


258 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


coach  had  passed  on.  The  driver  of  this  one  was  politely 
busy  with  his  brake-bar ; though  what  he  should  want 
with  that,  on  a level,  I cannot  say. 

Stephen  Moore,’’  said  Alice,  leaning  from  her  upper 
seat,  and  laying  on  his  shoulder  a hand  that  thrilled  him 
through  body  and  soul,  there  is  something.  Do  not  de- 
ceive me ! ” 

He  would  rather  have  faced  again,  for  his  old  friend 
Morton,  the  pirates  of  Singapore,  or  the  cannon  of  the 
Peninsula,  than  the  lawless,  rebellious,  passionate  impulse 
that  raged  within  him.  The  woman  who  gazed  so  ear- 
nestly into  his  eyes,  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  his  anxiety, 
saw  something  in  them  which  made  her  cast  down  her 
own.  But  his  voice  betrayed  him  not. 

Alice,”  he  said,  ''  Alice  Eussell,  I will  never  deceive 
you.  There  is  danger,  and  I know  my  duty.  You 
must  do  as  I say.” 

Yes,”  she  murmured,  ''  I will  do  whatever  you  say  ” ; 
and  passively  allowed  herself  to  be  lifted  down.  Stephen 
remained  outside,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  knew 
the  manner  of  an  Indian  attack.  They  would  first  at- 
tempt to  disable  the  driver,  and  bring  the  coach  to  a 
stand.  Under  the  circumstances,  two  drivers  would  be 
better  than  one  : that  was  all. 

But  the  Piutes  were  not  on  the  war-path,  after  all ; 
and  by  the  next  morning  the  dangerous  part  of  the  road 
had  been  safely  passed.  The  affair  had  no  further  result 
than  this,  that  Miss  Eussell  had  found  a man  who  did 
not  reason  with  her,  but  commanded  her,  — and  whom 
she  obeyed.  A man  not  polished,  not  her  equal  in  edu- 


OVERLAND. 


259 


cation,  occasionally  using  the  English  language  in  a 
manner  neither  elegant  nor  correct ; but  he  commanded, 
and  she  obeyed. 

For  the  remaining  five  days  of  the  journey  they  abode 
in  a strange,  sweet  reserve,  banishing  from  their  minds, 
so  far  as  might  be,  the  thoughts  of  duty  and  of  sorrow 
that  would  soon  enough  demand  attention.  Alice  was 
almost  sorry  when  Virginia  City,  with  its  restless  throng 
of  miners  and  speculators,  then  in  the  first  flush  of  un- 
paralleled success,  was  left  behind,  and  she  knew  that 
Goldopolis  would  be  reached  the  next  afternoon.  Pre- 
cious, indeed,  was  the  last  hour,  when  they  drove  down 
the  Grade  in  the  starlight,  and  Stephen  rehearsed  once 
more  the  story  of  those  adventures  in  which  Philip 
and  he  had  borne  a part.  Now  the  light  of  the  Station 
gleams  before  them.  Philip,  advised  of  their  approach 
by  telegraph,  is  on  the  alert.  He  stands  on  the  porch, 
well  and  strong;  and  at  the  sight  of  his  beloved  face 
the  troubled  waters  of  his  sister’s  heart  are  hushed  to 
sudden  peace. 


260 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

TOO  LATE. 

/ 

The  first  thing  Frank  Vane  did  on  arriving  in  St. 
Louis  was  to  visit  the  bank,  make  himself  known  to  the 
officers,  and  request  a description  of  the  appearance  of 
that  James  Barlow  who  had  deposited  the  fifty-dollar 
notes.  This  he  was  unable  to  get.  Nobody  remembered 
the  person.  Vane  felt  as  if,  to  use  the  words  of  a West- 
ern story,  his  road  had  changed  to  a squirrel-track  and 
run  up  a tree.  The  Directory  exhibited  a James  Bar- 
low,  who,  when  hunted  up,  proved  to  be  in  the  white- 
washing business,  and  never  to  have  possessed  check  or 
cheek  enough  to  enter  a bank,  — a venerable  African,  in 
short,  with  $ 15.75  laid  up,  in  a woolen  stocking,  against 
the  day  of  his  helplessness. 

Several  days  were  passed  in  following  false  scents 
suggested  by  the  city  police,  whose  brief  list  of  Barlows 
alias  something  else  was  soon  exhausted,  without  furnish- 
ing a clew.  Frank  had  about  concluded  to  abandon  the 
search  so  hastily  undertaken,  when  one  day,  as  he  sat  at 
the  dinner-table  of  the  Planters’,  he  was  startled  to  hear 
a low  exclamation  from  his  next  neighbor,  — Jim  Bar- 
low,  as  sure  as  my  name ’s  J ohnson  ! ” 

The  man  who  spoke  was  looking  across  the  room  and 
through  an  open  door  into  the  hall.  Frank  followed  the 


TOO  LATE. 


261 


direction  of  his  glance,  and  recognized,  in  spite  of  the 
changes  wrought  by  time  and  fashion,  the  features  of 
Charley  Green,  the  former  clerk  of  the  Bayport  Bank. 
His  start  of  surprise  attracted  the  attention  of  the  first 
speaker,  who  looked  at  him  and  exclaimed,  ''  Why,  this 
must  be  Frank  Vane ! My  name’s  Johnson;  I knew 
your  father  well,  and  I ’m  particularly  glad  to  see  you 
here.” 

A few  words  explained  matters ; and  Frank  was  for 
rushing  out  immediately,  lest  the  thief  should  escape. 
But  Mr.  Johnson  took  matters  coolly,  saying, No  hurry ; 
he  can’t  get  away.  See  that  man  out  by  the  door? 
That’s  my  man.  Been  tracking  this  Green-Barlow- 
Howe  around  town  for  three  days,  and  never  came  up 
with  him  till  this  minute.  In  fact,  we  looked  every- 
where but  here.  But  we  won’t  lose  him  now.” 

After  dinner  they  walked  out  into  the  hall.  Hank 
Howe  saw  them  coming,  and  knew  that  he  was  trapped. 
The  interview  was  brief  and  business-like.  Mr.  John- 
son produced  his  papers,  and  showed  the  gambler  that 
they  were  regular  in  form.  He  might  gain  some  delay 
by  refusing  to  leave  the  State  until  a demand  should  be 
made  for  him  by  the  governor  of  California ; but  Cali- 
fornia, when  she  got  him,  would  charge  the  extra  trouble 
to  his  account.  It  was  his  best  policy  to  make  things 
easy  for  his  prosecutors.  So  he  surrendered  at  once. 
When  Vane  questioned  him  about  the  Bayport  forgery, 
he  inquired  coolly,  Is  that  going  down  in  the  bill  ? ” 

'"No,”  said  Frank;  ''we  only  want  to  get  the  facts 
about  that.”  And  Mr.  Johnson  added  significantly. 


262 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


We  want  to  clear  Andy  Campbell,  whether  we  do  it 
by  trying  you  or  not.  That ’s  a point  had  better  be  de- 
cided now ; for  if  this  Bayport  business  goes  into  court, 
we  11  try  that  first ; and  after  you  get  through  with  that 
term,  we  ’ll  call  on  you  again.  Wells  Fargo  can  wait, 
you  know.  Then  there ’s  that  Knuckles  matter.  They 
do  say  that  old  Knuckles  had  n’t  a fair  show  in  that.” 
The  gambler’s  iron  nerves  must  have  become  crystallized 
and  brittle,  as  iron  rails  and  axles  do,  by  repeated  jars. 
He  was  palpably  crushed  by  the  pressure  put  upon  him ; 
and  it  was  with  a wretchedly  unsuccessful  attempt  at  his 
usual  indifference  that  he  replied,  You  need  n’t  squeeze 
so  hard.  I’ve  no  objection  to  clearing  that  old  fool 
Campbell,  — for  his  daughter’s  sake,  if  nothing  else.  If 
he  had  had  her  spirit,  he  would  have  cleared  himself 
long  ago.” 

The  confession  which  followed  contained  nothing  new, 
except  the  account  of  an  interview  between  Charley 
Green  and  Andrew  Campbell,  in  Bayport,  after  the  ac- 
cusation of  the  latter,  in  which  the  clerk  had  skillfully 
intensified  the  nervous  horrors  of  the  cashier,  and  urged 
him  to  fly  from  a place  where,  even  if  acquitted,  he  would 
no  longer  be  unsuspected.  The  surrender  of  the  house 
would  stop  pursuit;  and  a peaceful,  unmolested  life 
would  await  the  fugitive  in  the  fair,  new  West.  In  his 
first  craze  of  despair,  Andy  Campbell  had  followed  this 
advice.  Green  secretly  assisting  his  departure.  Many  a 
time  afterwards  did  the  cashier  bitterly  repent  this  first 
step.  Before  his  terrified  thoughts  that  inexplicable  res- 
titution stood,  blocking  forever  the  way  of  his  vindica- 


TOO  LATE. 


263 


tion.  His  only  available  recourse  was  to  avoid  all  con- 
nection with  the  life  behind  him,  — to  become  forgotten, 
though  he  could  not  forget,  — and  to  spare  Kate  the  mis- 
ery of  sharing  his  remorse.  Upon  this  habitual  mood 
of  his,  Harrison  Howe  had  intruded  a second  time,  and 
even  more  easily  than  at  first  had  controlled  the  weak 
spirit  of  his  victim.  All  this,  made  plain,  I trust,  in 
preceding  chapters,  was  now  set  forth  to  Vane  and  John- 
son in  a clear,  connected  narrative,  devoid  of  passion, 
repentance,  hypocrisy,  or  humor,  by  the  defeated  villain. 

Our  story  has  no  more  to  do  with  Harrison  Howe. 
He  makes  no  startling  end.  He  reappears  not,  in  a des- 
perate last  endeavor,  to  bear  the  senseless  Katherine 
away  before  him  on  his  midnight  steed ; he  stands  not 
at  bay  in  any  rocky  canon,  shooting  several  subordinate 
characters  before  he  finally  puts  the  pistol  to  his  own 
head,  and  ''  die^  as  he  has  lived,”  etc.,  etc.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  turns  out  as  might  fairly  be  expected  of  a cold- 
blooded, sharp-witted,  selfish  man,  with  strong  nerves,  a 
penchant  for  plotting,  a reckless  courage,  luxurious  tastes, 
good  clothes,  and  a handsome  mustache.  The  nerves 
wear  out  in  time ; the  courage  wears  out  with  them ; 
the  gamester  throws  up  the  game ; the  fine  clothes  and 
the  fine  mustache  fall  off;  and  there  is  left  only  a 
meek,  ordinary  individual,  with  shaven  poll  and  striped 
garments,  a mere  link  in  the  chain  of  humanity  that 
drags  itself  across  the  prison-yard,  ''keeping  step,”  to 
meals.  There  is  only  enough  of  the  flashy  gentleman 
left  in  him  to  make  his  comrades  dislike  him,  particu- 
larly the  one  who  marches  just  behind  him  (whom  we 


264 


BRAYE  HEARTS. 


might  recognize,  if  he  would  grow  his  hair  and  resume  his 
slouched  hat)  and  who  takes  malicious  pleasure,  when 
the  keeper  is  not  looking,  in  whispering,  ''Knuckles 

over  the  shoulder  of  No. , and  noting  the  invariable 

start  of  terror  which  the  word  produces.  Mr.  Harrison 
Howe’s  career  is  evidently  a failure.  He  tried  to  be 
Satanic,  and  broke  down,  — because  he  was  human. 

Francis  Vane,  having  so  unexpectedly  succeeded  in 
his  object,  was  now  seized  with  the  impulse  to  go  fur- 
ther, and  break  the  tidings  to  Andrew  Campbell  — and 
his  daughter.  Perhaps  he  would  not  have  yielded  to 
this  impulse  but  for  Mr.  Johnson’s  cheerful  communica- 
tion that  he  knew  exactly  where  the  station-keeper  was. 

One  of  my  men  taking  care  of  him,”  said  Mr.  Johnson. 
"'No  use  in  his  going  back  to  the  Station  right  away. 
Some  of  those  fellows  might  try  to  lynch  him  again,  and 
perhaps  no  Stephen  Moore  to  save  him.  But  I ’ve  kept 
my  eye  on  him.” 

This  settled  the  matter ; when,  one  day  after  Alice 
and  Stephen  left  Atchison,  the  morning  coach  departed 
from  that  lively  town,  it  carried  Frank  Vane  as  well  as 
Mr.  Johnson  and  his  prisoner.  Frank  enjoyed  the  jour- 
ney keenly,  feeling,  as  never  before,  the  grandeur  and 
beauty  of  his  native  land,  and  not  forgetting  to  note 
what  fine  chances  for  investment  were  opening  in  the 
West.  "'Twenty  years  from  now,”  he  said,  in  the  rash- 
ness of  youth,  as  they  left  Denver,  " there  will  be  a rail- 
road depot  in  this  town,  and  lots  will  be  worth  money.” 
In  less  than  half  that  time,  there  were  to  be  five  rail- 
roads centering  at  Denver ; which  fact,  had  Frank 


TOO  LATE. 


265 


Vane  only  foreseen  it  (or  you  or  I,  dear  reader  of  small 
means),  would  have  led  to  the  purchase  of  some  corner- 
lots  in  Denver  that  only  nabobs  are  now  likely  to 
touch. 

They  had  a taste  of  adventure  too;  for  the  Piutes 
went  after  them  in  earnest,  and  chased  them  for  a good 
mile,  luckily  in  vain.  But  they  were  besieged  for  a day 
in  a stockaded  way-station ; and  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
at  the  moment  when  Alice  sprang  into  the  arms  of  her 
brother  at  Andy's  station,  Messrs.  Johnson  and  Vane, 
quite  unconscious  of  her  presence  on  that  side  of  the 
continent,  were  two  days  behind  her  on  the  road. 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter had  much  to  say  to  each  other ; though  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  each  had  something  to  keep  back. 
Alice  did  not  care  to  mention  her  rejection  of  Morton, 
not  knowing  how  Philip  would  receive  it ; and  still  less 
would  she  betray  that  feeling  towards  Stephen  which 
she  had  scarcely  acknowledged  to  herself.  Philip,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  determined  to  hide  from  every  liv- 
ing being  his  love  for  Kate.  She  belonged  fairly  to  Ste- 
phen,— if  Stephen  loved  her,  and  if  his  love  was 
returned.  That  this  was  really  the  case,  Philip  continu- 
ally told  himself ; and  in  the  same  tone  he  made  as 
many  allusions  as  his  self-control  would  permit,  in  talk- 
ing with  Alice.  She,  poor  girl,  tried  to  show  that  she 
comprehended  the  situation  perfectly,  and  that  she  re- 
joiced at  Stephen's  love  for  Kate ; and  thus  they 
co-operated  zealously  in  making  themselves  miserable. 

But,  the  evening  after  Alice’s  arrival,  as  they  all  sat 
12 


266 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


before  the  fire  in  the  great  room  of  the  Station,  chatting 
pleasantly  about  the  scenes  and  adventures  of  the  last 
few  weeks,  the  door  opened,  and  Katherine  Campbell 
stood  before  them,  her  riding-habit  splashed  with 
muddy  water,  her  face  pale  and  sad.  They  made  Alice 
known  to  her;  and  a gleam  of  brightness  crossed  her 
countenance  as  she  said,  ''1  am  very  glad  you  have 
come.  Miss  Eussell,  for  your  brother’s  sake.  We  have 
not  treated  him  well,  out  here  in  the  mountains.” 

She  looked  once  at  Philip ; and,  satisfied  at  a glance 
that  he  was  entirely  well,  smiled  in  token  of  her  thanks- 
giving for  one  boon  at  least,  and  then  turned  to  Stephen. 

''I  want  you  now,”  she  said.  '‘Father  is  not  well; 
he  is  sinking  every  day ; I am  afraid  he  will  die.”  Her 
voice  trembled,  and  her  lip  quivered.  " Come  to  us,  and 
see  what  you  can  do  for  him.” 

Thus  far  they  had  all  waited  for  her  to  speak ; it  was 
so  evident  that  the  weightiest  tidings  would  be  those  she 
brought.  But  now  Stephen  and  Philip  both  started 
eagerly  forward,  volunteering  to  go  immediately.  Alice 
ventured  to  insist  on  accompanying  them.  " I can  help 
you  watch  with  him,”  said  she ; " men  are  not  good  to 
watch.” 

"You  don’t  know  how  good  — nor  how  bad  — they 
are,”  replied  Kate,  recalling  keenly  the  perils,  rescues, 
and  sorrows  of  the  last  month.  " But  I should  be  glad 
to  have  your  company.”  Glad,  indeed  ! Through  all  her 
deep  anxiety  uprose  a yearning  desire  to  make  this  sweet 
sister  of  Philip  Eussell  her  friend. 

Stephen  was  ready  with  his  plan  at  once.  "We  can 


TOO  LATE. 


2G7 


turn  over  the  shebang  ^ to  the  hostler,”  said  he.  As 
for  Philip’s  express  business,  we  ’ll  let  that  slide.  The 
boys  can  carry  the  parcels  and  the  treasure-box  straight 
on  to  the  valley  station  or  up  to  ’Opolis,  according.  I ’U 
go  out  and  saddle  the  mustangs.  Of  course  you  can 
ride.  Miss  Alice  ? ” 

I don’t  know  what  terrible  animals  mustangs  may 
be,”  replied  Alice.  Have  n’t  I heard  of  an  awful  per- 
formance called  ^ bucking  ’ ? ” 

0,  if  that ’s  all,”  said  Stephen,  mischievously,  you 
will  do  well  enough  ! One  person’s  as  good  as  another 
on  a bucking  horse  ! ” 

Here  Kate  interposed.  It  was  useless,  she  said,  to 
start  that  night.  Her  father  was  in  good  hands ; she 
had  left  him  four  hours  before.  By  daylight,  they  could 
reach  him  in  three.  But  it  was  necessary  to  ford  the 
river ; and,  though  the  water  was  low,  the  quicksands 
were  bad.  She  would  not  try  it  again  in  the  dark,  herself. 
There  was  a touch  of  beautiful  unconscious  pride  in  the 
last  argument,  as  if  she  had  said, ''  Where  I do  not  dare 
to  go,  no  man  would  dare.”  A slight  shudder  accom- 
panying the  words  was  the  only  sign  she  gave  of  the 
story  mutely  told  by  her  stained  dress,  — a story  of  her 
desperate  struggle  for  life  in  the  treacherous  river  bot- 
tom, with  the  lights  of  the  Station  in  view,  yet  no  hu- 
man help  at  hand. 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  start  on  the  follow- 
ing morning ; and,  there  being  fortunately  no  guests  that 

* This  term,  strictly  meaning  a rude  cabin,  is  applied  on  the  Pacific 
slope,  half  jocosely,  to  any  house. 


268 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


night  at  the  Station,  the  four  friends  passed  the  remain- 
der of  the  evening  together.  Kate’s  tensely  strung 
nerves  relaxed  under  the  influence  of  this  kindly  com- 
panionship, which  she  accepted  as  an  omen  of  relief.  As 
she  learned  from  her  companions  so  many  things  about 
her  father’s  early  and  recent  experiences,  hitherto  un- 
known to  her,  and  gained  thus  the  clew  to  his  weak  life, 
she  wept  silently,  but  with  lightened  heart.  All  might 
yet  be  set  right.  They  would  carry  to  her  father  the 
medicine  he  needed,  — hope  and  cheer.  Alice  would 
tell  him  that  everybody  in  Bayport  believed  him  inno- 
cent (which  Alice  had  indeed  said,  in  her  enthusiasm, 
and  which  was  destined  to  be  quite  true,  shortly) ; Ste- 
phen would  assure  him  that  nobody  doubted  his  inno- 
cence of  the  robbery  on  the  Grade  ; Philip  — why,  Philip 
need  only  give  him  his  hand  to  show  him  that  a gentle- 
man knew  him  for  a gentleman.  They  would  bring  him 
back  to  the  Station  ; and  what  would  happen  after  that 
she  did  not  quite  dare  to  question.  Probably  Philip  and 
his  sister  would  go  away.  She  would  not  torment  her- 
self yet  with  such  thoughts. 

Alice  was  occupying  Kate’s  room,  and  proposed  to 
surrender  it  to  her,  but  she  firmly  refused.  Steve  will 
turn  out  for  me,”  she  said  ; I ’ll  take  his  room,  and  he 
will  camp  here  in  the  sitting-room.  We  barbarians  are 
better  used  to  such  little  inconveniences  than  you  East- 
ern people.” 

That ’s  pretty  talk,”  cried  Alice,  to  a girl  that  has 
been  sleeping  a fortnight  in  stage-coaches.  But  I do 
wish,  at  least,  you  would  take  your  own  room,  — and  let 
me  share  it  with  you.” 


TOO  LATE. 


269 


This  arrangement  was  accepted,  and  the  ladies  re- 
tired. They  must  have  combed  their  back-hair  a good 
while  that  night,  — if  that  is,  as  I am  informed,  the  cere- 
mony attending  the  mutual  confidences  of  women, — 
for  when  they  appeared  next  morning,  it  was  arm-and- 
waist,  and  no  longer  Miss  Eussell  and  Miss  Campbell, 
but  Alice  and  Kate.  Evidently  Kate,  who  had  her  own 
reasons  for  loving  Philip’s  sister,  had  completely  con- 
quered the  affections  of  Alice,  who  certainly  had  no  spe- 
cial cause,  at  the  outset,  for  liking  her.  The  intimacy 
had  thriven  rapidly  on  the  basis  of  a long  talk  about 
Philip  and  Stephen,  in  which  Kate  had  divined  her  com- 
panion’s secret,  and  successfully  guarded  her  own. 
Yet  Alice  somehow  gained  from  it  all  a delicious  doubt 
as  to  the  nature  of  the  affection  between  Kate  and  Ste- 
phen. Perhaps  she  only  thinks  of  him,”  she  mused, 
''  as  I think  of  Philip.” 

The  morning  was  fair,  though  an  early  snow-storm 
had  new-robed  the  Sierra.  They  crossed  the  stream 
safely,  and  rode  in  single  file  along  a bridle-trail,  leading 
into  the  foot-hills,  through  the  forests,  over  many  a gulch 
and  canon,  towards  the  Gulch,  the  rival  mining-camp 
which  threatened  to  eclipse  Goldopolis.  This  was  not  the 
main  road,  and  they  met  no  travellers  upon  it.  After 
following  it  for  a couple  of  hours,  they  left  it  for  a still 
fainter  trail,  which  led  them  up  a steep,  wooded  ridge,  on 
the  farther  side  of  which  they  came  upon  a wood-cutter’s 
camp,  consisting  of  a single  large,  low  cabin.  It  was  a 
picturesque  scene.  Close  around  stood  the  grand  forests 
of  the  Sierra,  upon  which  little  inroad  had  yet  been 


270 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


made  by  the  hand  of  man.  Just  before  the  cabin  the 
ground  descended  suddenly  into  a magnificent  deep 
canon,  in  the  distant  bed  of  which  could  be  seen  the 
curling  smoke  and  the  white  split-pine  roofs  of  the  cab- 
ins of  Dead  Man  s Gulch.  There  was  a simple  arrange- 
ment called  a wood-slide,  itself  of  wood, — a sort  of 
smooth  trough  running  straight  down  the  mountain, 
along  which  the  timber  and  cordwood  cut  above  could 
be  shot  down  without  expense  (except  to  careless  trav- 
elers below)  nearly  into  the  mining-camp.  This  arrange- 
ment, with  the  log-house  and  the  business  of  cutting- 
wood,  belonged  to  Dan’l,  who  had  left  it  for  a couple  of 
days  at  Mr.  Johnson’s  orders  (and  for  good  pay),  and  had 
persuaded  Andy  Campbell  in  his  despair  to  accept  it  as 
a refuge. 

As  the  party  approached,  Danl  was  observed  squatting 
before  a fire  in  the  open  air,  which  he  had  just  reduced 
to  the  proper  consistency  for  cooking,  namely,  to  a mass 
of  glowing  coals,  — the  smoke  and  blaze  of  the  log  being 
gone,  and  only  its  fiery  heart  remaining.  His  undou- 
bling and  uprising  was  like  the  growth  of  a magic  gourd. 
He  shook  hands  with  his  visitors,  pointed  to  the  house, 
and,  as  they  turned  to  enter,  followed  them  with  his  eye, 
in  silent  thought ; then,  turning  to  a huge  piece  of  bacon 
that  hung  from  a neighboring  limb,  cut  eight  extra  slices, 
two  for  each  of  the  new-comers,  and  piled  them  neatly 
on  a chip,  to  wait  the  proper  moment  for  frying. 

The  house  contained  one  room  only,  but  this  had  been 
divided  into  two  by  means  of  blankets  hung  from  the 
roof,  leaving  an  interior  chamber  for  Kate’s  occupancy. 


TOO  LATE. 


271 


In  the  outer  apartment  were  two  rude  bunks,  made 
comfortable  with  abundant  bear-skins  and  blankets.  On 
one  of  these,  which  had  been  drawn  out  to  the  middle 
of  the  earthen  floor,  so  that  it  commanded  through  the 
open  doorway  a view  of  the  sunny,  airy,  leafy  world,  lay 
Andrew  Campbell.  His  violin  was  on  the  floor,  where 
it  had  fallen  from  his  hands.  The  hunted,  haunted  look 
had  vanished  from  his  face ; he  was  more  like  the  loving, 
happy  father  of  years  gone  by  than  Kate  had  ever  hoped 
to  see  him  again.  But  her  first  glad  surprise  was  quickly 
followed  by  anguish,  when  she  perceived  that  memory 
had  departed  as  well  as  fear.  He  looked  placidly  upon 
them  all,  but  spoke  no  word  save  incoherent  whispers 
which  they  could  not  understand.  Kate  he  seemed  to 
recognize,  though  once  he  called  her  Mary,  which  was 
her  mothers  name.  The  Eussells  he  ignored.  Upon 
Stephen  he  looked  occasionally  with  an  air  of  perplexity. 

Philip  and  Alice  returned  to  the  clearing  before  the 
house,  feeling  that  they  could  not  render  any  immediate 
service.  Within,  Kate  sat  by  one  side  of  the  narrow 
bunk,  holding  her  father's  hand,  and  Stephen  on  the 
other  side,  watching  the  case  with  a growing  conviction 
of  its  hopelessness.  The  dying  man  looked  from  one  to 
the  other.  Feebly  he  felt  for  Stephen's  hand,  and,  hav- 
ing found  it,  lay  for  a few  moments  in  impassive  forget- 
fulness. Then  he  brought  the  two  hands  together,  — 
Kate's  and  Stephen's,  — clasped  them  in  both  his  own, 
and  closed  his  eyes.  But  his  gentle  breathing  showed 
that  he  still  lived. 

The  crackling  of  twigs  and  leaves  under  horses'  hoofs 


272 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


was  heard  without,  Then  a hasty  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. ''  What,  Miss  Alice,  you  here  ? How  in  the  name 
of  wonder  — ” Then  a sudden  hush,  followed  by  eager 
conversation  in  low  tones.  Kate  slipped  quietly  out  to 
learn  the  cause ; but  in  a moment  she  returned,  elate, 
triumphant,  sure  that  the  good  news  she  bore  had  virtue 
to  inspire  the  despairing,  to  call  the  dying  back  to  life. 

''  Father,  father ! ” she  cried,  ''  you  are  innocent ; they 
all  know  you  are  innocent ; they  want  you  to  go  back 
to  Bayport.  Indeed  it  is  all  true;  see,  here  are  Mr. 
Johnson  and  Mr.  Vane  come  to  tell  you  so  !” 

Andrew  Campbell  awoke  once  more  to  life  at  the 
sound  of  these  names.  He  sat  up  suddenly  on  his  bed, 
just  as  the  two  men  appeared  before  the  door.  At  sight 
of  their  faces,  a look  of  recognition,  and  with  it,  alas ! 
the  old  look  of  terror,  came  back  to  him.  He  flung  up 
his  hands  wildly,  with  an  inarticulate  shriek,  fell  back 
upon  his  pillow,  and  neither  spoke  nor  stirred  again. 
They  watched  his  waning  breath  and  pulse  for  an  hour, 
hoping  against  hope ; but  at  last  both  were  still,  and  the 
gray  shadow  that  comes  but  once,  and  is  nevermore 
lifted,  crept  upward  to  his  brow. 


TKE  BKAVEST  HEAllT. 


273 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  BRAVEST  HEART. 

Kate  Campbell  sat  in  her  chamber,  absorbed  in  sad 
reflection.  The  events  of  the  last  week  had  lifted  from 
her  shoulders  one  burden  to  which  she  had  grown  accus- 
tomed, only  to  lay  in  its  place  another,  almost  too  heavy 
to  be  borne. 

First,  there  had  been  her  father’s  death,  of  which  her 
friends  spoke  as  of  a release  for  him  and  a relief  for  her. 
She  felt  that  this  was  true.  Moreover,  there  had  been 
no  lack  of  sympathy  for  her  or  respect  for  the  deceased. 
Father  Ryan  had  come  to  the  wood-cutter’s  cabin,  on 
purpose  to  conduct  the  quiet  burial-service,  which  he 
did  in  a manner  both  touching  and  amusing,  considering 
that  the  man  had  been  a heretic.  They  laid  him  under 
the  grass  on  the  edge  of  the  high  bluff ; and  after  the 
ceremony  was  over,  the  good  priest  said  to  Kate,  Sure 
it ’s  not  exactly  consecrated  ground,  — more ’s  the  pity  ; 
but  yer  tears,  me  darlin’,  faith,  I think  they  ’ll  be  reck- 
oned as  howly  wather,  considerin’  the  circumsthances.” 

The  funeral  was  private  ; but  the  next  number  of  the 
weekly  Goldopolitan  ” contained  a glowing  eulogy  of 
our  esteemed  fellow-citizen,  Andrew  Campbell,  Esq.,” 
dilating  especially  upon  his  services  in  maintaining  a 
high  standard  of  musical  art  among  us,”  and  tendering 
12* 


li 


274 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


to  his  lovely  and  accomplished  daughter  the  sympathies 
of  a sorrow-stricken  community.’’ 

But  all  consolations  could  not  fill  the  void  in  her  life. 
We  miss  our  departed  friends  in  the  proportion  not 
merely  of  our  love,  but  of  our  care  for  them.  Love  can 
reach  out  across  the  narrow  rill  of  death,  and  still  walk 
hand  in  hand  with  the  unseen  beloved.  It  is  habit  that 
is  smitten  with  a mortal  wound,  and  must  die  in  us  with 
slow  pain.  Though  we  know  the  dead  are  happier,  and 
that  soon  we  shall  be  happier  to  remember  than  we 
could  have  been  to  retain  them,  yet  the  vacuum  in  our 
lives  remains  for  a while,  and  while  it  stays  unfilled  is 
abhorred  of  nature. 

But  Katherine  Campbell  had  to  face  more  troublous 
thoughts  than  these,  — thoughts  connected  with  her  own 
plans  for  the  future.  It  seemed  as  if  Bate  required  her 
to  continue  the  sacrifice  of  her  life,  though  he  for  whom 
it  was  begun  no  longer  needed  it.  Since  his  death,  two 
friends  had  left  her ; and  though  their  going  was  her 
own  work,  and  she  did  not  dream  of  recalling  them,  the 
omen  was  disquieting. 

The  first  was  Dan’l,  who,  on  the  evening  after  the 
funeral,  had  offered  her  his  heart  and  hand,  in  language 
as  sincere,  respectful,  and  earnest  as  it  was  uncouth.  He 
did  not  appear  surprised  at  her  refusal.  He  had  scarcely 
dared  to  hope  for  more ; but,  as  he  explained,  it  had 
'^’peared  like  she  mought  be  lonesome,  ’thout  th’  ole 
man  ” ; and  so  he  had  revealed  his  humble  affection. 
The  next  day  he  appeared  at  the  Station,  and  said  he  had 
sold  the  wood-ranch,  and  was  “ gwine  back  to  the  States.” 


TPIE  BRAVEST  HEART. 


275 


So  she  lost  the  faithful  friend  who  had  been  for  many 
weeks  the  guardian  of  her  father’s  refuge,  and  her  com- 
panion in  the  duties  of  that  weary  time.  She  had  con- 
tributed regularly  to  the  expenses  of  their  rude  house- 
keeping ; but  she  begged  Dan’l,  at  parting,  to  accept 
some  money  for  himself  He  took  from  the  offered  gold 
a single  dollar,  in  which  there  happened  to  be  a hole. 
The  rest  he  returned  to  her.  At  the  very  last,  Danl 
looked  into  her  face  with  the  simplicity  and  the  penetra- 
tion of  a child.  ''  You  mought  be  lonesome,”  said  he. 

“ I shall  be  very  lonesome,  Daniel.  Good  by.”  She 
never  saw  him  again. 

A day  or  two  after  that,  Frank  Vane  went  away. 
From  the  time  of  his  arrival,  he  had  been  put  on  a foot- 
ing of  familiarity,  justified  by  ancient  friendship.  As 
he  was  fond  of  intimating,  he  had  known  Kate  longer 
than  any  of  the  others.  But  one  or  two  small  reconnois^ 
sances  had  satisfied  him  that  this  intimacy  was  really  a 
sign  that  she  had  no  thought  of  him  as  a suitor.  On  the 
whole,  it  would  have  been  very  awkward  to  pay  court  to 
Miss  Campbell  while  Miss  Eussell  was  by,  though  his 
relations  with  the  latter  were  simple  enough.  In  the 
first  surprise  of  meeting  her,  he  had  forgotten  to  be  em- 
barrassed ; then  the  death  of  Andrew  Campbell  before 
their  eyes  had  driven; from  their  minds  all  thoughts  of 
the  past ; and  subsequently,  Alice,  determined  to  have 
no  chance  for  misunderstandings,  had  taken  an  opportu- 
nity of  saying,  I am  glad  we  are  to  be  good  friends, 
Frank.  You  see  I drop  the  'Mr.’  You  had  better  do 
the  same  by  the  ' Miss.’  It  is  the  custom  of  the  country 


276 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


between  intimate  friends.”  So  Frank  Vane,  content 
to  ''  take  the  good  the  gods  provide,”  had  found  himself 
on  excellent  terms  with  two  charming  girls,  one  of  whom 
had  refused  him  already,  while  the  other  had  snubbed 
his  aspirations  in  infancy,  so  to  speak,  and  doubtless 
deemed  him  cured  of  folly  in  his  thoughts  of  her. 

Before  bidding  Kate  good  by,  he  informed  her  that 
the  Bayport  villa  was  her  own.  “I  got  the  telegram 
this  morning,”  said  he,  in  answer  to  my  letter  from  St. 
Louis.  It ’s  all  arranged.  You  see,  my  governor  never 
would  believe  your  father  was  guilty ; and  he  bought 
the  villa  of  the  bank  for  a thousand  dollars  more  than 
the  money  they  had  lost,  and  held  it  till  he  died.  We 
talked  about  it  a hundred  times.  ' If  I ever  find  Mr. 
Campbell  and  his  daughter,’  he  used  to  say, " I shall  give 
him  back  his  property,  and  take  a mortgage  on  it  for  the 
amount  I paid  for  it  — ’ ” 

He  hesitated  ; and  Kate  looked  up  inquiringly.  “ Well, 
this  is  what  he  said,  Kate  ; I ’m  not  to  blame.  He  said 
that  he  would  present  you  with  the  mortgage  on  your 
wedding-day.  The  governor  was  always  fond  of  you. 
And  when  he  died,  he  left  that  property  'to  my  son 
Francis,  for  a purpose  which  he  understands.’  ” 

“0  Frank!  you  must  keep  the  mortgage  yourself; 
I cannot  take  it  from  you.” 

“You  can  give  it  to  any  fellow  you  choose,”  said 
Frank,  significantly,  — “ Stephen,  or  Philip,  or  me.  But 
there  now,  I won’t  be  silly : I did  n’t  mean  anything, 
Kate.  By  J ove  I I wish  I was  your  brother  ; then  you 
would  n’t  care  what  I said.  I can  chaff  Isabella  all  day. 


THE  BRAVEST  HEART. 


277 


and  she  don’t  mind.  Of  course  I did  n’t  mean  anything ; 
do  you  suppose  I am  blind  ? Can’t  I see  that  Stephen 
Moore  is  dead  in  love  with  Alice  ? Poor  fellow,  I pity 
him.  I ’ve  been  there,  myself.  And  so  has  Morton. 
But  we’re  done  for.  One  pair  of  mittens  was  just 
enough  to  go  round ! ” 

Kate  listened  with  amazement.  Stephen  ! Alice  ! ” 
she  ejaculated. 

''As  sure  as  you  live,”  replied  Frank,  with  the  jaunty 
indifference  which  we  feel  for  other  folks’  love-affairs. 
" But  don’t  mix  yourself  up  with  it,  Kate.  It  ’ll  settle 
itself  The  Eussells  don’t  take  naturally  to  matrimony, 
I ’m  afraid.  There ’s  Philip,  had  all  the  Bayport  girls 
thrown  at  his  head,  and  thinks  more  of  the  Darwinian 
theory,  or  whatever  it  is,  than  of  the  whole  lot.  The 
great  trouble  is,  he  and  Alice  are  in  love  with  each  other. 
But  my  time ’s  short,  and  I must  finish  up  business. 
You  will  let  me  obey  my  governor’s  wishes,  won’t  you  ? ” 

Kate  could  resist  no  longer.  " It  is  too  generous,”  she 
said ; " but  have  it  as  you  will.” 

" Business  is  business,”  replied  Frank ; " and  here ’s 
some  more  of  it.  Lots  have  gone  up  in  Bayport  since 
the  war,  and  no  end  of  people  have  been  after  your 
place,  but  I would  n’t  sell  at  any  price.  Said  I could  n’t 
give  a clear  title.  But  here ’s  a fellow  has  heard 
somehow  that  the  title  is  now  perfected,  and  offers  me 
by  telegraph  forty-four  thousand  for  the  place  with  the 
mortgage  on  it,  or  fifty  thousand  with  the  mortgage  paid 
off  You  might  get  more  by  holding  on  to  it ; but,  on 
the  whole,  I advise  you  to  sell.” 


278 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


Whatever  you  think  best/'  said  Kate,  not  haK  real- 
izing the  extent  of  her  good  fortune,  and  not  in  the  least 
suspecting  that  the  purchaser  was  Mr.  Trank  Yane. 

''Well  then.  I'll  sell  for  forty-four,  as  soon  as  I get 
back.  And  there 's  another  item,  — six  thousand  dollars 
and  interest,  due  you  from  the  Bayport  Bank.  I 'll  see 
about  that  promptly.  That 's  all,  I believe,  — except  to 
say  good  by.  I 'm  afraid  you  'll  be  lonesome,  Kate.  If 
you  are>  come  and  visit  us.  And  you  must  keep  me 
posted  as  to  your  address.  I shall  have  to  write  to  you 
about  your  investments,  you  know.  Well,  good  by.” 

They  were  standing  at  one  end  of  the  piazza,  and  the 
rest  of  the  household  were  within  doors.  Only  the 
stage-driver  (not  Stephen,  but  a stranger)  was  within 
sight,  but  his  back  was  turned,  and  he  was  busy  ar- 
ranging packages  on  the  roof  of  his  coach.  The  silence, 
the  solitude,  and  the  starry  witnesses  above,  brought  back 
to  Frank  Yane's  memory  the  night,  so  many  years  agone, 
in  which  he  tried  to  kiss  little  Kate  Campbell,  — and 
emphatically  failed.  It  was  not  easy  to  abstain  from 
repeating  the  experiment  now.  Her  fair  and  earnest 
face  laid  a spell  upon  him.  But  he  had  taken  the  rdle 
of  faithful  friend  only,  and  he  must  not  covet  the  privi- 
leges of  the  "first  gentleman,”  whoever  he  might  be. 
So,  with  a heroism  as  large  as  the  petty  character  of  the 
sacrifice  would  permit,  he  took  her  hand  only,  in  the 
firm,  free  clasp  of  steadfast  affection,  as  he  said  good  by. 

But  Kate  lifted  her  face  to  his,  and  kissed  him.  " God 
bless  and  keep  you,  Frank,”  she  said.  " You  have  been 
indeed  a true  friend  to  me.”  Then  she  turned  hastily 


THE  BRAVEST  HEART. 


279 


away,  and  he  saw  her  no  more  before  his  departure.  As 
he  sat  wrapped  in  his  blanket  on  the  top  of  the  stage, 
and  rode  up  the  Grade,  between  the  peaceful  earth  and 
the  peaceful  sky,  Frank  Vane  made  up  his  mind  that,  on 
the  whole,  his  journey  had  repaid  him  well. 

So  now,  as  I said  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter, 
Katherine  Campbell  sat  in  her  chamber,  absorbed  in  sad 
reflection.  Frank  had  been  gone  two  days ; and  the  rest 
were  evidently  waiting  only  out  of  sympathy  and  respect 
for  her,  until  she  should  speak  the  word  which  would 
scatter  them  on  their  several  roads.  What  she  should 
do  with  herself,  she  could  not  yet  decide.  She  would 
first  consider  what  she  could  do  for  these  dear  friends. 
Perhaps  Stephen  loved  Alice,  as  Frank  supposed.  Per- 
haps he  considered  himself  bound  by  his  former  proposal 
to  herself,  or  by  the  half-unconscious,  mute  gesture  of 
her  father,  joining  their  hands  over  his  own  heart.  If 
these  were  the  only  obstacles,  she  would  put  them  out 
of  the  way.  But  it  cost  her  a pang  to  make  the  resolu- 
tion. Although  she  would  not  marry  Stephen,  it  was 
not  easy  to  take  a step  that  would  send  him  away  from 
her.  Yes,  he  too  would  doubtless  go  to  live  at  Bayport, 
— dear  Bayport,  where  all  her  friends  would  be  gathered, 
the  only  place  in  the  world  where  she  would  care  to 
be,  yet  the  only  place  she  must  avoid.  For  she  fronted 
bravely  the  knowledge  that  she  loved  Philip  Eussell 
with  all  her  heart.  She  repeated  to  herself  the  sad, 
sweet  refrain, — 

“ I love  thee  so,  dear,  that  I only  can  leave  thee.” 

But  yonder  went  Stephen,  and  her  thoughts  returned 


280 


BEAVE  HEARTS. 


to  him.  With  a pretty  little  feminine  burlesque  of  the 
Indian  war-whoop  she  hailed  him ; and  he  came  quickly 
and  stood  outside  her  window,  crossing  his  arms  on  the 
sill. 

Steve,”  said  Kate,  you  look  pale ; something  wor- 
ries you.  You  must  tell  me  what  it  is.  When  father 
put  our  hands  together,  I remembered  that  we  had 
shaken  hands  already  over  a promise  to  trust  one  another. 
You  are  my  brother,  you  know.” 

I remember  both  times  very  well,”  said  Stephen, 
slowly.  “ What  I offered  once,  1 11  stand  to  now.  Your 
father  is  gone ; and  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  you, 
if  you  11  take  a rough  fellow  like  me.” 

Not  too  rough,  dear  Stephen,  for  any  woman’s  hand. 
But  I tell  you  again,  as  I told  you  before,  you  are  mere- 
ly thinking  how  to  help  and  protect  me.  I will  not 
marry  you  under  those  circumstances,  nor  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, — never,  never,  never.  You  darling  old  kind- 
hearted  fellow,  you  have  to  be  refused  a dozen  times 
before  you  11  give  up  what  you  don’t  want.  But  I hope 
that  will  satisfy  you.” 

It  apparently  did  not  satisfy  him,  for  it  only  threw 
him  back  on  his  secret  and  hopeless  love  for  Alice.  He 
could  have  laid  this  love  away  with  his  memories  of 
childhood,  and  settled  into  an  affectionate  and  contented 
life  with  Kate,  — Miss  Eussell  being  far  enough  away. 
Or  at  least  he  tried  to  believe  that  he  could  have  done 
so.  But  to  live  on  the  unsubstantial  passion  only  was 
a desolate  prospect  for  an  active  and  naturally  hopeful 
mind  like  his. 


THE  BRAVEST  HEART.# 


281 


Kate,  having  the  key  to  the  cipher,  read  all  his  heart 
in  his  face.  Wherever  you  are,  Steve,  I shall  know 
that  you  are  my  wise  and  true  friend,  ready  to  advise 
and  help.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  take  a husband 
I don’t  want,  in  order  not  to  lose  a brother  I do  want. 
We  will  be  friends,  as  your  old  companion  Mr.  Morton 
and  Alice  Eussell  are.  Why,  how  queer ! just  as  we 
speak  of  Alice,  there  she  goes  ! ” 

Stephen  turned  swiftly,  and  saw  Alice  walking  slowly 
up  the  road.  Kate  ! ” he  said,  huskily  and  in  great  agi- 
tation, don’t  torture  me  ! You  know  she  is  engaged  to 
Alf  Morton.” 

I know  better,”  said  Kate,  letting  out  her  friend’s 
secret  inch  by  inch.  A wave  of  light  surged  over  his 
countenance,  chased  by  a wave  of  shadow.  He  spoke 
again,  intensely  eager,  staking  his  whole  soul  on  the 
issue. 

Kate,  she  would  n’t  listen  to  me  ? ” 

I think  you  had  better  ask  her  yourself,”  replied 
Miss  Campbell. 

He  turned  swiftly  to  go,  yet,  looking  back  once  more, 
could  not  but  perceive  how  sad  and  exhausted  she  ap- 
peared. Eeturning  to  the  window,  he  took  her  hand 
earnestly,  saying,  ''I  think  I’ll  stay  with  you,  Kate. 
You’ll  be  lonesome  when  they  are  gone.” 

But  she  pointed  up  the  road.  ''  Don’t  let  us  have 
too  many  lonely  people,  Steve.  What  if  she  loves  you  ? ” 
An  instant  more,  and  he  was  striding  away  in  a tu- 
mult of  surprise  and  hope.  She  watched  him  till  he 
had  disappeared.  Everybody  said,  yet  nobody  knew, 


282 


BKAVE  HEARTS. 


how  lonely  she  would  be  when  the  last  friend  had  left 
her.  The  rest  would  go  without  her  sending  them. 
Philip  was  already  longing  to  be  off;  she  could  see 
that  in  his  restless  manner  and  his  constrained  reserve 
towards  her.  Was  he  afraid  that,  in  her  Western  frank- 
ness, she  would  trouble  him  with  some  unwomanly 
tokens  of  her  feelings  ? No  ; he  was  too  noble  to  mis- 
understand her  so.  Nor  could  he  suspect  the  secret  she 
had  kept  so  well.  Out  of  the  memories  of  that  dread- 
ful night  one  sweet,  sacred  vision  arose  perpetually,  and 
she  heard  again  his  earnest  tones,  Trust  me  as  you  do 
Stephen.”  Even  then  she  had  not  been  able  to  promise 
that  She  had  felt  the  difference  in  her  feelings  for  the 
two,  and  she  could  not  class  them  together.  Well,  it 
would  all  be  over  soon,  — except  the  dreaming,  and  the 
praying,  and  the  unknown  troubles  of  her  future  life, 
which  should  be  welcome,  if  they  would  only  dull  the 
sharp  edge  of  this  present  pain. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Philip  Eussell  sat  on  the  piazza,  his 
chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall,  and  his  hat  drawn 
over  his  eyes.  Though  the  mountains  showed  the  early 
snows,  the  rainy  season  had  not  come  ; and  the  autumn 
sunshine  made  the  days  delicious.  But  Philip  was  re- 
solving for  the  hundredth  time  that  he  must  tear  him- 
self away.  He  would  insist  upon  going,  — Alice  and  he, 
— and  Kate  and  Stephen  should  never  know  what  it 
had  cost  him  to  leave  them  together. 

Up  the  road  went  Stephen,  and  just  beyond  the  first 
trees  that  hid  the  Station  from  view  he  overtook  Alice 
Eussell.  She  knew  who  was  coming  behind  her.  Was 


THE  BRAVEST  HEART. 


283 


it  a wild,  vague  suspicion  of  what  was  coming,  that  made 
her  walk  faster  at  first,  and  then  stop  short  and  turn 
about  ? 

Her  hero  never  looked  to  her  so  noble  as  now,  when 
he  stood  before  her  in  manly  humility.  And  certainly 
no  impassioned  wooing  w^as  ever  so  eloquent  (in  the 
opinion  of  the  audience)  as  the  straight-forward,  terse, 
and  weighty  words  of  the  stage-driver. 

Miss  Alice,  will  you  hear  me  a minute  ? I thought 
you  were  engaged  to  Morton.  If  it  is  not  so  — 

Alice  replied  faintly,  regarding  with  great  attention  a 
specimen  of  quartz  which  some  one  had  dropped  in  the 
road,  and  which  she  turned  over  assiduously  with  the 
toe  of  her  boot, Ho,  it  is  not  so.”  • 

Then  you  must  hear  me,”  quoth  Stephen,  with  the 
air  of  the  captain  of  a forlorn  hope,  who  purposes  to 
die,  at  least,  face  forward,  '^for  I love  you;  and  you 
will  not  refuse  me  a word,  to  put  me  out  of  pain,  — the 
pain  of  not  knowing.  I -might  not  have  dared  to  speak, 
but  Kate  encouraged  me.  I have  loved  you,  — always, 
I think  ; anyhow,  ever  since  that  day  on  the  coach,  when 
we  expected  the  Piutes.  I could  n’t  bear  the  thought 
of  harm  coming  to  you ; and  when  I looked  in  your 
face,  I knew  that  — it  must  be  you  or  nobody.” 

Alice  heard  him,  motionless,  with  downcast  look  and 
deepening  flush.  Kate  had  sent  him  to  her!  Then 
there  had  been  a great  mistake,  and  it  was  now  cleared 
away.  As  he  paused,  she  looked  up  and  met  with  frank 
and  serious  look  the  intense  glow  of  his  waiting  eyes. 

I remember  that  day  upon  the  coach,”  she  said. 


284 


BRAVE  HEARTS. 


slowly.  You  would  have  risked  your  life  for  me.  I 
remember  every  word  you  spoke.  Have  you  forgotten 
mine  ? 

You  told  me/’  replied  Stephen,  the  glow  in  his  eyes 
breaking  forth  in  a flame  of  joy,  that  you  would  do 
whatever  I thought  best.” 

She  nodded  with  a quick,  tearful  smile,  murmuring,  as 
she  held  out  both  hands  to  her  lover,  But  I said  flrst 
that  I would  rather  stay  with  you  ! ” 


Half  an  hour  after,  Mr.  Philip  Eussell  was  roused 
from  his  disagreeable  ruminations  by  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps before  him.  Tipping  his  chair  forward  and  his 
hat  backward,  he  saw  Stephen  and  Alice.  Fetch  on 
your  blessing,  partner,”  quoth  the  stage-driver,  while 
Alice  laid  her  happy  face  to  Philip’s  cheek.  He  started 
up  in  amazement. 

''What ! ” he  said,  you  two  ? Where ’s  Kate  ! ! ” 
And  Mr.  Eussell  rushed  into  the  house  like  a California 
whirlwind. 


THE  END. 


Cambridge  : Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  & Co. 


September y 1873. 


I*  J^0t!Cr  ^ ||w;bIuatbiTS, 


THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

A Novel. 

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STATES,  WITH  REFERENCE  CHIEFLY  TO  THE  PRECIOUS  METALS. 

By  ROSSITER  W.  RAYMOND. 


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stitute of  Mining  Engineers ; Editor  of  the  Engineering  and 
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NORWOOD : 

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PLEASANT  TALK  ABOUT  FRUITS, 
FLOWERS,  AND  FARMING. 

NEW  EDITION,  WITH  MUCH  ADDITIONAL  MATTER. 

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The  present  edition  contains  many  recent  additions  to  the  original 
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lawyer, — to  everybody  to  whom  the  study  of  human  nature  is  of  m- 
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master-preacher  works  to  produce  such  resulss  as  have  crowned  his 
ministry,  their  usefulness  cannot  be  over-estimated. 


“What  a charming,  what  a ‘fruity’ 
volume  is  this  last  venture  of  Henry 
Ward  Beecher!  The  ‘Yale  Lectures 
on  Preaching’  can  be  read  by  everybody, 
layman  or  clergyman,  withrdelight.  We 
can  point  to  few  recent  novels  which  are 
more  entertaining  than  this  book.” — 
Boston  Globe, 


“Vigorous,  eloquent,  and  practical.” 
— Philadelphia  Age. 

“We  know  of  no  dozen  treaties  on 
the  preacher’s  work  which  contain  so 
rnuch  of  sensible  and  valuable  instruc- 
tion as  is  compressed  into  this  little  vol- 
ume.”— N.  Y.  Independent, 


YALE  LECTURES  ON  PREACHING. 

Second  Series. 

By  henry  ward  BEECHER. 

Uniform  Edition  of  the  Author’s  Works. 

I vol.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $i  50. 

The  second  course  consists  of  eleven  lectures  delivered  at  Yale 
College  during  the  winter  of  1873.  In  this  course  Mr.  Beecher  con- 
siders the  social  and  religious  machinery  of  the  church  as  related  to 
preaching. 


STAR  PAPERS. 


NEW  EDITION,  WITH  MANY  ADDITIONAL  PAPERS. 

By  henry  ward  BEECHER. 
Uniform  Edition  of  the  Author’s  Works. 


I vol.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $i  75. 


These  experiences  of  Art  and  Nature  are  perhaps  the  most  widely 
known  of  Mr.  Beecher’s  miscellaneous  writings.  The  original  edi- 
tion, issued  many  years  ago,  met  with  a most  gratifying  reception,  and, 
although  it  has  been  out  of  print  for  some  years,  has  been  frequently 
inquired  for.  It  is  now  reissued  with  fresh  and  charming  additions. 


‘‘  We  have  nothing  in  the  way  of  de- 
scriptive writing,  not  even  the  best 
sketches^  of  Washington  Irving,  that 
exceeds  in  richness  of  imagery  and  per- 
spicuity of  statement  these  ‘ Star  Pa- 
pers.’ ” — Methodist  Home  Journal. 


“ A book  to  be  read  and  re-read,  and 
always  with  a fresh  sense  of  enjoyment.” 
— Portland  Press. 

“So  full  of  rural  life,  so  sparkling 
with  cheerfulness,  so  holy  in  their  ten- 
derness, and  so  brave  in  nobility  of 
thought.” — Liberal  Christian. 


27  Park  Place^  and  24  <2?^  26  Murray  Street^  JSfew  York, 


4 


Works  Published  by  J.  B,  Ford  Co, 


LECTURES  TO  YOUNG  MEN 

ON  VARIOUS  IMPORTANT  SUBJECTS. 

NEW  EDITION,  WITH  ADDITIONAL  LECTURES. 

By  henry  ward  BEECHER, 


Uniform  Edition  of  the  Author’s  Works. 


I vol.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $i  50. 

This  was  Mr.  Beecher’s  first  book,  and  is  known  all  over  the 
world.  The  present  edition  is  enriched  by  the  addition  of  several 
new  lectures,  and  some  reminiscences  of  the  origin  of  the  book  by 
Mr.  Beecher.  ^ The  book  should  have  a place  in  every  family.  It 
can  scarcely  fail  to  interest  every  intelligent  reader,  nor  to  benefit 
every  young  man  who  reads  it. 


“ The  subjects  are  all  practical,  and 
presented  with  characteristic  impress- 
iveness.”— Albany  Evening  Journal. 

“ Wise  and  elevating  in  tone,  pervaded 
by  earnestness,  and  well  fitted  for  its 
mission  to  improve  and  benefit  the  youth 
of  the  land.” — Boston  Commonwealth. 

“ These  lectures  are  written  with  all 
the  vigor  of  style  and  beauty  of  lan- 


guage which  characterize  everything 
from  the  pen  of  this  remarkable  man. 
They  are  a series  of  fearless  disserta- 
tions upon  every-day  subjects,  conveyed 
with  a power  of  eloquence  and  a prac- 
tical illustration  so  unique  as  to  be 
oftentimes  startling  to  the  reader  of 
ordinary  discourses  of  the  kind.” — 
Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


MOTHERLY  TALKS 
WITH  YOUNG  HOUSEKEEPERS. 


By  MRS.  H.  W,  BEECHER. 


WITH  CARBON-PHOTOGRAPHIC  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


I vol.  I2mO.  $2. 

Mrs.  Beecher’s  notion  of  woman’s  sphere  is,  that,  whatever  ex- 
ceptional women  may  be  able  to  accomplish  by  reason  of  peculiar 
circumstances  and  talents,  the  place  of  labor  and  achievement  for 
most  women,  and  for  all  married  women  and  mothers,  is  Home. 

This  book,  composed  of  brief  and  pithy  articles  on  almost  every 
conceivable  point  of  duty,  is  an  admirable  monitor  for  young  wives, 
and  a mine  of  good  sense  and  information  for  growing  maidens. 


“ An  admirable  corrective  to  ignorance 
in  the  household.” — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

A useful  and  entertaining  work, 
crammed  with  friendly  and  admirable 
monitions  and  instruction  for  young 
housekeepers.”  — Philadelphia  Even- 
ing Herald. 

“This  book  is  exactly  what  its  title 
sets  forth — a kind  and  motherly^vay  of 
helping  the  young  and  inexperienced 


make  agreeable,  well-regulated,  and 
happy  homes.” — Boston  Globe. 

“What  she  has  to  say  she  says  so 
well,  with  such  good  sense,  ripe  judg- 
ment, and  such  a mother-warmth  of 
heart,  that  she  cannot  fail  to  help  the 
class  for  whom  she  writes,  and  guide 
them  into  good  and  useful  paths.” — 
Presbyterian. 


2 f Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street^  Neiv  York, 


Works  Published  by  J,  B,  Ford  6^  Co. 


5 


NEW  LIFE  IN  NEW  LANDS. 


NOTES  OF  TRAVEL  ACROSS  THE  AMERICAN  CONTINENT,  FROM 
CHICAGO  TO  THE  PACIFIC  AND  BACK. 


By  grace  greenwood. 

I vol.  I2mO.  $2. 

This  is  a gathered  series  of  letters,  racy,  brilliant,  piquant ; full  of 
keen  observation  and  pungent  statement  of  facts,  picturesque  in  de- 
lineation of  scenes  on  the  plains,  in  the  mountains,  and  along  the 
sea. 


“Among  the  best  of  the  author’s 
productions,  and  every  way  delightful.” 
— Boston  Post. 

“ The  late  William  H.  Seward  char- 
acterized her  account  of  Mormons  and 
Mormonism  as  the  most  graphic  and 
trustworthy  he  had  ever  read.” — Meth- 
odist Home  Journal. 


“ Grace  always  finds  lots  of  things  no 
one  else  would  see  ; and  she  has  a happy 
knack  of  picking  up  the  mountains  and 
cities  and  big  tress,  and  tossing  them 
across  the  continent  right  before  the 
reader’s  eyes.  It’s  ve¥y  convenient,” — 
Buj^alo  Express. 


MY  WIFE  AND  I: 


OR,  HARRY  HENDERSON’S  HISTORY. 

A Novel. 


By  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 
Illustrated,  i vol.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $i  75. 


This  charming  novel  is,  in  some  respects,  Mrs.  Stowe’s  most 
thoughtful  and  complete  book.  It  is  eminently  a book  for  the  times, 
giving  the  author’s  individual  ideas  about  the  much-vexed  Woman 
Question^  including  marriage,  divorce,  suffrage,  legislation,  and  all 
the  rights  claimed  by  the  clamorous. 


“ A capital  story,  in  which  fashionable 
follies  are  shown  up,  fast  young  ladies 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  want- 
ing, and  the  value  of  true  worth  ex- 
hibited.”— Portland  Argus. 


“ Always  bright,  piquant,  and  enter- 
taining, with  an  occasional  touch  of 
tenderness,  strong  because  subtle,  keen 
in  sarcasm,  full  of  womanly  logic  di- 
rected against  unwomanly  tendencies. 
— Boston  Journal. 


THE  OVERTURE  OF  ANGELS. 

A SERIES  OF  PICTURES  OF  THE  ANGELIC  APPEARANCES  ATTENDING 
THE  NATIVITY  OF  OUR  LORD.  A CHAPTER  FROM 
THE  “LIFE  OF  CHRIST.” 


By  henry  ward  BEECHER. 

Illustrated,  i vol.  i2mo.  $2. 

A beautiful  and  characteristically  interesting  treatment  of  all  the 
events  recorded  in  the  Gospels  as  occurring  about  the  time  of  the 
Nativity.  Full  of  poetic  imagery,  beauty  of  sentiment,  and  vivid 
pictures  of  the  life  of  the  Orient  in  that  day. 


“ The  style,  the  sentiment,  and  faith- 
fulness to  the  spirit  of  the  Biblical  record 
with  which  the  narrative  is  treated  are 
characteristic  of  its  author,  and  will 


commend  it  to  many  readers,  to  whom 
its  elegance  of  form  will  give  it  an  addi- 
tional attraction.” — Worcester  {Mass. 
Spy. 

“ A perfect  fragment.” — N.  Y.  World. 


27  Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street^  New  York. 


6 


Works  Published  by  J.  B.  Ford  Co. 


BEECHER’S  SERMONS. 

FROM  PHONOGRAPHIC  REPORTS  BY  T.  J.  ELLINWOOD,  FOR  FIFTEEN 

YEARS  MR.  Beecher’s  special  reporter,  uniformly 

BOUND  IN  DARK  BROWN*  ENGLISH  CLOTH.  EACH 
VOLUME  CONTAINS  TWENTY-SIX  SER- 
MONS, AND  THE  PRAYERS  BE- 
FORE THE  SERMONS. 


Eight  vols.  8vo.  Cloth,  $2  50  each. 


Each  succeeding  volume  will  contain  also,  six  months’  sermons  (from 
450  to  500  pp.),  issued  in  uniform  style.  The  First  Series  has  an  ex- 
cellent steel  portrait  of  Mr.  Beecher  ; the  Second  Series^  a fine  interior 
view  of  Plymouth  Church.  The  other  volumes  are  not  illustrated. 


“ These  corrected  sermons  of  perhaps 
the  greatest  of  living  preachers — a man 
whose  heart  is  as  warm  and  catholic  as 
his  abilities  are  great,  and  whose  ser- 
mons combine  fidelity  and  scriptural 
truth,  great  power,  glorious  imagination, 
fervid  rhetoric,  and  vigorous  reasoning, 
with  intense  human  sympathy  and  robust 
common-sense.’ ' — British  Quarterly 
Review. 


“ There  is  not  a discourse  in  all  this 
large  collection  that  does  not  hold  pas- 
sages of  great  suggestiveness  and  power 
for  the  most  ordinary,  unsympathizing 
reader — illustrations  of  great  beauty  and 
point,  eloquent  invitations  to  better  life, 
touching  appeals  to  nobler  purposes  and 
more  generous  action,” — Springfield 
Republican. 


MATERNITY : 


A POPULAR  TREATISE  FOR  WIVES  AND  MOTHERS. 


By  T.  S.  VERDI,  A.  M.,  M.  D. 

Fifth  Edition. 

I vol.  i2mo.  $2  25. 


This  book  has  arisen  from  a wa,nt  felt  in  the  author’s  own  practice, 
as  a monitor  to  young  wives,  a guide  to  young  mothers,  and  an  as- 
sistant to  the  family  physician.  It  deals  skillfully,  sensibly,  and  deli- 
cately with  the  perplexities  of  married  life,  giving  information  which 
women  must  have,  either  in  conversation  with  physicians  or  from 
such  a source  as  this.  Plain  and  intelligible,  but  without  offence  to 
the  most  fastidious  taste,  the  style  of  this  book  must  commend  it  to 
careful  perusal.  It  treats  of  the  needs,  dangers,  and  alleviations  of 
the  holy  duties  of  maternity,  and  gives  extended,  detailed  instruc- 
tions for  the  care  and  medical  treatment  of  infants  and  children 
throughout  all  the  perils  of  early  life. 


“ The  author  deserves  great  credit  for 
his  labor,  and  the  book  merits  an  ex- 
tensive circulation.” — d.  .9.  Medical  and 
Surgical  Journal  {Chicago). 

“We  hail  the  appearance  of  this  work 
with  true  pleasure.^  It  is  dictated  by  a 
pure  and  liberal  spirit,  and  will  be  a real 
boon  to  many  a ^^^oung  mother.” — A mer- 
ican  Medical  Observer  {Detroit). 


“ There  are  few  intelligent  mothers 
who  will  not  be  benefitted  by  reading 
and  keeping  by  them  for  frequent  coun- 
sel a volume  so  rich  in  valuable  sug- 
gestions. With  its  tables,  prescriptions, 
and  indexes  at  the  end,  this  book  ought 
to  do  much  good.” — Hearth  and  Home. 


27  Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street^  New  York. 


Works  Published  by  J.  B.  Ford  Co, 


7 


THE  CHILDREN’S  WEEK: 


SEVEN  STORIES  FOR  SEVEN  DAYS. 

By  R.  W.  RAYMOND. 


Illustrated  by  H.  L.  Stephens  and  Miss  M.  L.  Hallock. 


I vol.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $i  25. 


Seven  cheery  stories  with  a flavor  of  the  holidays  about  them. 
Mr.  Raymond’s  conceptions  are  ingenious,  and  while  the  glimpses  of 
fairy-land  and  its  wonders  will*open  the  eyes  of  the  little  folk,  the 
book  possesses  many  attractions  for  older  persons  in  its  simple,  artis- 
tic style,  and  the  quaint  ideas  in  which  it  revels. 


“ The  book  is  bright  enough  to  please 
any  people  of  culture,  and  yet  so  simple 
that  children  will  welcome  it  with  glee.” 
— Cleveland  Plaindealer, 

Mr.  Raymond’s  tales  have  won  great 
popularity  by  their  wit,  delicate  fancy. 


and,  withal,  admirable  good  sense.  The 
illustrations — all  new  and  made  for  the 
book— are  particularly  apt  and  pleasing, 
showing  forth  the  comical  element  of  the 
book  and  its  pure  and  beautiful  senti- 
ment.”— Bujff^alo  {N.  Y.)  Cotnmercial 
A dvertiser. 


OUR  SEVEN  CHURCHES: 


EIGHT  LECTURES. 


By  THOMAS  K.  BEECHER. 


I vol.  i6mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ; Cloth,  $1. 

A most  valuable  exponent  of  the  doctrines  of  the  leading  religious 
denominations,  and  a striking  exhibition  of  the  author’s  magnanimity 
and  breadth  of  loving  sympathy. 


“ The  sermons  are  written  in  a style 
at  once  brilliant,  epigrammatic,  and 
readable.” — Utica  Herald, 

“This  little  book  has  created  con- 
siderable discussion  among  the  religious 
journals,  and  will  be  read  with  interest 
by  all.” — Phila,  Ledger, 


“ There  is  hardly  a page  which  does 
not  offer  a fresh  thought,  a genial  touch 
of  humor,  or  a suggestion  at  which  the 
reader’s  heart  leaps  up  with  grateful 
surprise  that  a minister  belonging  to  a 
sect  can  think  and  speak  so  generously 
and  nobly.” — Milwaukee  Sentinel, 


HISTORY  of  the  STATE  OF  NEW  YORK. 

FROM  THE  DATE  OF  THE  DISCOVERY  AND  SETTLEMENTS  ON 
MANHATTAN  ISLAND  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME.  A TEXT-BOOK 
FOR  HIGH  SCHOOLS,  ACADEMIES,  AND  COLLEGES. 

By  S.  S.  RANDALL, 

Superintendent  of  Public  Education  in  New  York  City. 

I vol.  i2mo.  Illustrated,  Cloth,  $i  75. 

Officially  adopted  by  the  Boards  of  Education  in  the  cities  of 
New  York,  Brooklyn,  and  Jersey  City,  for  use  in  the  Public  Schools  ; 
and  in  Private  Schools  throughout  the  State. 


27  Park  Place,^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street^  New  York, 


8 


Works  Published  by  J.  B Ford  6^  Co. 


PRINCIPLES  OF  DOMESTIC  SCIENCE 

AS  APPLIED  TO  THE  DUTIES  AND  PLEASURES  OF  HOME. 

By  CATHARINE  E.  BEECHER  and  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 
I volo  l2mo.  Profusely  Illustrated.  Cloth,  $2. 

Prepared  with  a view  to  assist  in  training  young  women  for  the 
distinctive  duties  which  inevitably  come  upon  them  in  household  life, 
this  volume  has  been  made  with  especial  reference  to  the  duties, 
cares,  and  pleasures  of  the  family^  as  being  the  place  where,  whatever 
the  political  developments  of  the  future,  woman,  from  her  nature  of 
body  and  of  spirit,  will  find  her  most  engrossing  occupation.  It  is 
full  of  interest  for  all  intelligent  girls  and  young  women. 

The  work  has  been  heartily  indorsed  and  adopted  by  the  directors 
of  many  of  the  leading  Colleges  and  Seminaries  for  young  women 
as  a text-book,  both  for  study  and  reading. 


MINES,  MILLS,  AND  FURNACES 
of  the  Precious  Metals  of  the  United  States. 


BEING  A COMPLETE  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  GENERAL  METHODS  EM- 
PLOYED  IN  THE  GREAT  MINING  INDUSTRIES  OF  AMERICA. 

By  ROSSITER  W.  RAYMOND,  Ph.  D., 

U.  S.  Commissioner  of  Mining  Statistics. 

I vol.  8vo.  With  Plates.  Cloth,  $3  50. 

This  is  a very  particular  account  of  the  condition  of  the  mining 
interests,  and  the  processes  and  mechanical  appliances  which  are 
applicable  to  them,  in  California,  Nevada,  Oregon,  Idaho,  Montana, 
Utah,  Arizona,  Wyoming,  Colorado,  and  New  Mexico.  It  is  the  re- 
port of  the  Commissioner  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and 
embodies  all  the  information  which  official  investigation  and  contri- 
butions from  experts  and  residents  of  those  regions  can  afford. 


“ The  author  is  thorough  in  his  sub- 
ject, and  has  already  published  a work 
on  our  mines  which  commanded  uni- 
versal approval  by  its  clearness  of  state- 
ment and  breadth  of  views.” — Albany 
A rgus. 

‘^His  scientific  ability,  his  practical 


knowledge  of  mines  and  mining,  his  un- 
erring judgment,  and,  finally,  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  he  enters  upon  his 
work,  all  combine  to  fit  him  for  his  po- 
sition, and  none  could  bring  it  to^  a 
greater  degree  of  uprightness  and  fair- 
ness.”— Denver  News, 


Any  of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  address,  post-paid, 
upon  receipt  of  the  price  by  the  Publishers. 


27  Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street ^ New  York. 


Works  Published  by  J,  B.  Ford  6^  Co^ 


9 


Subsmpticrn 


THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS,  THE  CHRIST. 

By  henry  ward  BEECHER. 


PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED,  FROM  DESIGNS  AFTER  NATURE,  BY  A.  L. 
RAWSON,  DRAWN  ON  WOOD  BY  HARRY  FENN,  AND  ENGRAVED  BY 
THE  BROTHERS  LINTON  ; WITH  NUMEROUS  MAPS  ; AND  WITH  A 
STEEL  PLATE  FRONTISPIECE,  “HEAD  OF  CHRIST,”  COPIED 
FROM  DA  VINCI’S“  LAST  SUPPER,”  BY  W.  E.  MARSHALL. 

Part  I. 


Pojfular  Ediiion,  i vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $3  50. 
Imperial  Edition,  i vol.  4to.  Cloth,  $7  50. 


It  is  rare  to  find  in  any  one  book  so  many  attractions  as  this  pre- 
tends, in  the  grandeur  and  interest  of  the  subject,  and  the  peculiar 
fitness  of  the  author  for  its  treatment  both  by  native  genius  and  care- 
ful preparation.  Mr.  Beecher  has  put  his  whole  wonderful  self  into 
the  writing  of  this  book. 


“ The  book  which  the  masses  of  the 
Christian  world  have  been  waiting  for.” 
— Rev.  R.  S.  Storks,  D.D. 

“ He  has  neither  thrown  off  his  ran- 
dom thoughts  nor  strung  together  his 
best  thoughts ; but  has  brought  all  his 


powers,  in  the  maturity  of  their  strength, 
in  the  richness  of  their  experience,  and 
the  largeness  of  their  development,  to 
produce  a work  that  may  fitly  represent 
the  results  of  his  life.” — Rev.  J.  P. 
Thompson,  in  the  Independent. 


Part  II.  In  Preparation. 


A LIBRARY  OF  POETRY  AND  SONG. 

BEING  CHOICE  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  POETS. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

By  william  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


Illustrated  with  a Portrait  on  Steel  of  Mr.  Bryant,  twenty-six  Auto- 
graphic Fac-similes  on  Wood  of  Celebrated  Poets,  and  six- 
teen full-page  Wood  Engravings  by  the  best  Artists 

Popular  Edition,  i vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $5  00. 

Red-Line  Edition,  i vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $7  50. 


This  book  has  been  prepared  with  the  aim  of  gathering  into  a 
single  volume  the  largest  practical  compilation  of  the  best  poems  of 
the  English  language,  making  it  as  nearly  as  possible  the  choicest 
and  most  complete  general  collection  published. 


“ Good  taste  has  ruled  in  the  selec- 
tions, and  the  compiler  has  performed 
his  exceedingly  difficult  task  with  great 
success.” — Chicago  Advance. 

“ Bryant’s  Introduction  to  the  volume 
is  a most  beautiful  and  comprehensive 
critical  essay  on  poets  and  poetry,  from 


the  days  of  ‘ the  father  of  English 
poetry’  to  the  present  time.” — Albany 
Evening  Journal. 

“ The  frontispiece  is  an  exquisite  like- 
ness Mr.  Bryant.” New  York 

E%>ening  Post. 


27  Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street.,  New  York. 


lO 


Works  Published  by  J.  B.  Ford  6^  Co. 
Sufr^-cription:  PwfrlitEtbns* — Continued,  . 


A LIBRARY  OF  FAMOUS  FICTION. 

EMBRACING  THE  NINE  STANDARD  MASTERPIECES 
‘OF  IMAGINATIVE  LITERATURE. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

By  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


Illustrated  with  thirty-fo'^'^  Engravings  on  Wood. 
I vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $5. 


In  this  companion  book  to  the  “Library  of  Poetry  and  Song,” 
the  famous  fictions  which  have  delighted  generations  are  offered  to 
the  public  in  an  elegant  and  convenient  form.  Mrs.  Stowe’s  Intro- 
tion  is  an  admirable  feature  of  the  book. 


“ A fitting  companion  for  the  popular 
‘ Library  of  Poetry  and  Song.’  ” — Lyons 
{N.  V.)  Republican. 

“ All  ages  will  delight  in  it — some  be- 
cause it  presents  the  tales  which  charmed 
them  in  youth,  and  some  because  it  will 
open  to  them  the  rich  treasures^  of* 
wildest  fancy  and  most  limitless  im- 
agination.”— Philadelphia  Age. 

“Not  a single  one  could  be  spared 


from  this  group.” — Rahway  {JSf.  y.)  Ad- 
vacate  and  Times. 

“ The  book  is  a gathering  of  intellec- 
pial  treasures,  which  all  intelligent  fam- 
ilies must  desire  in  some  form  to  possess 
and  preserve ; and  it  is  believed  that 
this  is  the  most  convenient,  interesting, 
and  elegant  form  in  which  they  have 
ever  been  presented  to  the  public.” — 
Newburgh  {JN,  V.)  Journal. 


THE  NEW  HOUSEKEEPER’S  MANUAL. 

Embracing  “ The  American  Woman’s  Home,”  and  “ The  Handy  Cook-Book.” 
By  CATHARINE  E.  BEECHER  and  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 
Profusely  Illustrated, 

I vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $3. 


An  eminently  practical  work,  the  result  of  long  domestic  experi- 
ence, and  thorough  study  of  domestic  needs.  It  deals  with  the 
foundation  principles  of  successful  housekeeping,  besides  being  full 
of  detailed  directions.  It  gives  the  scientific  and  the  common-sense 
reason  why.,  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  operations  of  every- 
day life.  It  is  also  a complete  Manual  of  Cookeiy. 


“ It  is  a book  which,  to  country  read- 
ers at  least,  must  prove  invaluable.” — 
N.  Y.  Tribune. 

“Young  married  women,  if  they  will 
but  read,  may  find  many  helps  to  pleas- 
ant and  comfortable  living  in  this  vol- 
ume.”— New  York  Times. 

“ It  treats  practically  oi  every  subject 
relating  to  domestic  life,  from  the  wo- 
man’s stand-point.” — Christian  Advo- 
cate {N.  Y.). 


“ The  reading  of  this  work  will  tend 
to  make  better  wives,  mothers,  and  com- 
panions.”  Man/ord^ s Monthly  {St. 

Louis, 


“ The  receipts,  counsels,  directions, 
hints,  and  experiences  meet  many  of  the 
little  perplexities  of  a housekeeper’s 
head.” Northern  Christian  Advo- 

cate. 


27  Park  Place.,  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street.,  New  York. 


Works  Ptihlished  by  J.  B.  Ford  6^  Co. 


II 


IP^riaijirals. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  UNION. 

AN  UNSECTARIAN  RELIGIOUS  WEEKLY  NEWSPAPER  FOR  THE  FAMILY. 

HlENRY  WARD  BEECHER,  Editor, 


In  the  management  and  editorial  conduct  of  the  paper,  Mr 
Beecher  is  assisted  by  an  able  staff  of  skillful  and  experienced 
journalists  ; while  the  contributors  embrace  well-known  and  eminent 
writers  from  every  evangelical  denomination  not  only,  but  from 
every  group  of  brilliant  literary  writers  in  this  country,  and  several 
in  England.  The  paper  contains  weekly  matter  of  interest  to  every 
member  of  the  Family,  young  or  old. 

GENERAL  CON  TEN  TR  : 


The  Outlook — A discussion  of  Minor 
Topics. 

Editorial  Articles — By  Mr.  Beecher 
and  the  Editorial  Staff. 

Poetry — Original  Contributions — not 
Selections, 

Contributed  Articles — By  the  best 
available  talent. 

“ Inquiring  Friends” — Editorial  An- 
swers to  questions  on  all  subjects. 

Lecture-Room  Talk — Mr.  Beecher's 
weekly  Prayer  Meeting  Discourse. 

Foreign  Notes — By  a well-known 
journalist. 

Books  and  Authors — Reviews  of  Cur- 
rent Literature.,  Art  and  Music. 

Serial  Stories — By  popular  A uthors. 

{See  below.) 

In  ORDER  TO  PRESERVE  THE  FAMILY  CHARACTER  OF  THE  PAPER, 
NO  MEDICAL  ADVERTISEMENTS,  OR  THOSE  OF  AN  OB- 
JECTIONABLE CHARACTER,  ARE  RECEIVED. 

Serial  Stories  by 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE,  EDWARD  EGGLESTON, 
GRACE  GREENWOOD,  and  ROBERTSON  GRAY. 

Terms  : S3  a Year. 

Every  subscriber  receives  a picture  premium  of  true  artistic  merit. 


Public  Opinion — Extracts  from  the 
Press. 

The  Household — Topics  of  Home  and 
Family  interest. 

The  Little  Folks — Stories.,  Puzzles., 
and  Miscellany  for  the  Children, 

The  Church — A t home  and  abroad. 

The  Week — A Summary  of  the  News. 

Scientific  and  Sanitary — By  a prom- 
inent Scientist. 

Sayings  and  Doings — Paragraphs  of 
interest  and  humor. 

Financial — The  week's  quotations  and 
financial  doings. 

Farm  and  Garden — An  Agricultural 
column. 


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12 


Works  Published  by  J,  JB.  Ford  Co, 


P^rx0irxx:al  ^xtblxtathns — Continued, 


PLYMOUTH  PULPIT : 

A WEEKLY  PUBLICATION  OF  SERMONS. 

By  henry  ward  BEECHER. 


FROM  CAREFUL,  VERBATIM  PHONOGRAPHIC  REPORTS  BY  T.  J.  ELLINWOOD,  FOR  FIF- 
TEEN YEARS  MR.  Beecher’s  special  reporter. 


This  issue  is  the  only  regularly  authorized  edition  of  these  Ser- 
mons, the  one  indorsed  by  Mr.  Beecher’s  approval  as  correct,  and 
sanctioned  by  his  authority.  Is  is  well  printed  on  good  paper,  in 
book  form  ; it  is  suitable  for  binding  and  preservation,  and  it  is 
cheap,  within  the  reach  of  all.  The  publishers  have  also  responded 
to  the  demand  for  a continued  insertion  of  the  Prayers  before  and 
after  the  Sermon,  as  among  the  most  spiritually  profitable  of  Mr. 
Beecher’s  ministrations.  Besides  this,  the  Scriptural  lesson  and 
hymns  sung  (Plymouth  Collections)  are  indicated,  thus  making  a 
complete  record  of  one  service  of  Plymouth  Church  for  each  Sunday. 


CRITICAL 

British. 

“ They  are  magnificent  discourses.  I 
have  often  taken  occasion  to  say  that 
Beecher  is  the  greatest  preacher  that 
ever  appeared  in  the  world  ; this  judg- 
ment is  most  soberly  considered  and 
most  deliberately  pronounced  ; his  bril- 
liant fancy,  his  deep  knowledge  of  hu- 
man naturoj  his  affluent  language,  and 
the  many-sidedness  of  his  noble  mind, 
conspire  to  place  him  at  the  head  of  all 
Christian  speakers.” — Rev.  Dr.  Parker, 
in  The  Pulpit  Amalyst  {Article  “Ad 
Clerum  ”). 

“ They  are  without  equal  among  the 
published  sermons  of  the  day.  Every- 
where we  find  ourselves  in  the  hands  of 
a man  of  high  and  noble  impulses,  oi 
thorough  fearlessness,  of  broad  and  gen- 
erous sympathies,^  who  has  consecrated 
all  his  wealth  of  intelligence  and  heart 
to  the  service  of  preaching  the  gospel,” 
— Literary  Worlds  London. 


OPINIONS. 

American. 

“We  certainly  find  in  these  sermons 
a great  deal  which  we  can  conscientious- 
ly commend,  and  that  amply  justifies 
the  exalted  position  which  their  author 
holds  among  American  preachers.  They 
are  worthy  of  great  praise  for  the  fresh- 
ness, vigor,  and  earnestness  of  their 
style  j for  the  beauty  and  oftentimes 
surprising  aptness  of  their  illustrations  ; 
for  the  large  amount  of  consolatory  and 
stimulating  thought  embodied^  in  them, 
and  for  the  force  and  skill  with  which 
religious  considerations  are  made  to 
bear  upon  the  most  common  transac- 
tions of  life.” — Bibliotheca  Sacra^  An- 
dover, Mass. 

Mr.  Beecher  “ by  his  genius,  and 
without  any  direct  effort,  has  more  in- 
fluence upon  the  ministerial  profession 
than  all  the  theological  seminaries  com- 
bined. The  discourses  are  rich  in  all 
that  makes  religious  literature  valu- 
able.”— Chicago  Evenhig  Journal. 


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subscriber  for  Plymouth  Pulpit  who  asks  for  it. 

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27  Park  Place^  and  24  6^  26  Murray  Street^  New  York. 


